Forced to Marry
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: Sherlock is finding it hard to sleep when Molly is on nightshift, and reads one of her romance novels. Then, he dreams of being the hero of his own Barbara Cartland novel, with Molly of course as the heroine. Sherlolly. Sensual, but not explicit.
1. Forced To Marry

**Special Note 3/17/19:** New cover image by lovely reader **Elizabeth** **Robello**.

* * *

Sherlock was restless. He had gone to bed soon after Molly left for nightshift, but he couldn't sleep. He sent a text to his new wife.

"I can't sleep without you in bed beside me."

Molly's response had been prompt, as it usually was when she was on the graveyard shift, because things were usually quiet at the hospital.

"Why don't you read a book? That might help you fall asleep."

"Good idea, love." After sending the text, the detective went upstairs to the smaller bedroom, to check out the bookcase which contained Molly's collection of novels.

What to read? He ran his thumb along the spines of the books. Agatha Christie, nope, he didn't think reading a mystery novel would help him sleep, it was far more likely to keep him awake and trying to figure out the ending before it was revealed in the book. Besides, he'd read most of those books. Enid Blyton, definitely not. Those children's stories could wait until he and Molly had their own family. Ah, here was a possibility. There were several romance novels by Barbara Cartland, historical romances that were not overly long in length.

Sherlock had been curious about Molly's collection of romance novels, and had even wondered sometimes if Molly thought he was her own personal hero. She had made reference to the "tall, dark and handsome" persona he presented. Perhaps he could read a story to try and understand his wife's thought processes on romance a little better. He might even get some new ideas on how to please her.

Sherlock selected one of the novels at random. It was about a penniless Marquis who was being forced to marry the daughter of a rich neighbour in order to restore his family estate.

The detective took the book downstairs with him and climbed into bed. He began to read the story. Ir was certainly romantic enough and rather sweet. Of course, the hero fell in love with the heroine after they were married for some time and they finally consummated the marriage only when they loved each other. The wording was rather quaint. "And as he made her his, It was if he carried her up into the Heavens. It was a union of their bodies and souls which came from God."

Sherlock snorted, then realized it was actually how he felt when he and his wife made love. Each and every time was better than the last, as they explored each other's bodies and learned more each time

The sleuth yawned. Molly was right. Reading did make one sleepy. Even though he felt lonely due to the empty space beside him, Sherlock's eyes eventually drifted shut and he slept.

.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../

Lord Sherlock Holmes, the new Marquis of Sherrinford stared at his mother in open-mouther horror.

"It can't be true. How could Father have allowed things to get to this? You are saying all the money is gone?"

Violet Holmes, the now dowager Marchioness of Sherrinford explained. "Your father made some very bad investments. He mortgaged everything that was not entailed, certain of the investment opportunity. Now the venture has failed and we are virtually penniless."

"And Father conveniently had to have a heart attack and die before he saw the ruination of our family. May he re burn in hell," the Marquis sneered.

"Sherlock, you mustn't speak ill of the dead. Your father," Violet Holmes paused, and a tear escaped down her face, "has only been dead forthree weeks."

"This should not have been my problem. I was not raised to run an estate as my brother was. You allowed me to attend university to gain scientific knowledge because I was the second son and not the heir. Mycroft would have made a better Marquis because he was trained for it from birth."

"I know, my dear."

"What in God's name are we to do about this?" asked her son, running a frustrated hand through his dark, curly hair.

"I only know of one solution," said his mother.

"Tell me," ordered the Marquis.

"Our new neighbour, the wealthy one who left England and struck it rich in America, before returning, - Mr. Sheldon Hooper and his wife Amy, are offering their daughter, Molly's hand in marriage to you. They will provide an enormous dowry to settle our debts and restore the estate to full solvency, in order to gain a title for their daughter."

Lord Sherlock stared at his mother in disbelief. "Marriage? I never intended to marry. If my older brother Mycroft hadn't run off with that totally unsuitable harlot, Irene, he would be the one standing here in my position."

"Nevertheless, he made his decision and was cut off by your father as a result. You are now the head of the family. It is your duty to produce an heir to carry on the family name and title, or it will fall to the next person in line. Surely you don't want the title to fall into the hands of your distant cousin, James Moriarty? I fear he craves the title already. He has always envied our station, and lusted for power."

"I am aware of that. I also suspect he was the one who put that Irene trollop in Mycroft's path, with the idea that she would seduce him, and he would be disinherited."

"Well, if that is the case, it certainly worked. Now, all that stands between him and the title are you and any heirs you might have. Besides, you must think of me and your younger sister, Eurus."

"I know," answered the handsome Marquis heavily. "I cannot allow James to inherit. He would attempt to use the power of our title and his underworld connections to disrupt the nation and undermine the king."

"That's true enough, so will you marry the girl?"

"How old is this Molly, anyway?" demanded the Marquis.

"She is three years younger than you, 27."

"My God, what is wrong with the girl to still be unmarried at her advanced age? Did she have the pox as a child and is so ugly no man would have her?"

"Sherlock, I have seen the girl. She is lovely and has a very sweet disposition. According to her mother, she was engaged at one point to a man named Tom, but she broke off the engagement for some reason. The man accused her of secretly seeing another man and allowing herself to be seduced, thereby ruining her virtue. A huge scandal ensued, and the family has been ostracized in the highest circles of society as a result. You would have known this if you didn't have your nose in a book so often, or if you would spend time away from those strange experiments. I could have sworn I saw you experimenting on an eyeball once."

"This situation has nothing to do with my experiments. Is this really the only solution, Mother? There has to be some other way. We have some very valuable paintings in the gallery. Perhaps I could sell them?"

"Dear boy, you know as well as I do that those paintings are all entailed, to protect them for future generations to enjoy. Anything that was not entailed has been sold to pay the interest on the mortgages to our smaller properties."

Lord Sherlock sighed. "I suppose I shall have to do this, for the sake of those future generations, or they will inherit nothing but more debt." Then he added dark,y, "Or even worse, my cousin James would inherit everything."

"That is very wise of you, my son." Violet Holmes kissed her son on the cheek. "I will speak with Mr. Hooper and we will make the arrangements for the wedding to take place as soon as possible."

"Very well. I have but one condition."

The dowager Marchioness looked at him inquiringly.

"I do not wish to see this girl, this Molly, until she walks down the aisle to me. I wish to enjoy the few days of freedom I have left, to work on my experiments."

Violet sighed, "It shall be as you ask, my son, although I do not believe delaying your meeting before the wedding will make for a healthy marriage."

"What do I care for a healthy marriage?" asked Lord Sherlock angrily. "I never asked for this damned title or these estates. I shall do my duty as a husband, get her with child, and then she can leave me to do my experiments in peace."

"I wish you didn't feel that way, Sherlock. Don't you want to allow yourself to get to know her and fall in love?"

"Love?" he echoed mockingly. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side."

"Those are very cynical words, my son. Your father and I were very happy."

"And look where it got you. A husband who had no sense when it came to money and was prepared to leave you destitute, a son who ran off with a harlot, a daughter who is simple of mind and must be kept in an asylum, and myself, a man who longs only to spend his time conducting scientific experiments. Not to mention my best friend John, who lost his wife Mary in childbirth and now has to contend with raising little Rosamund alone."

"Love is not perfect, Sherlock, but it is possible. You should open your heart to it. What if this Molly Hooper is the one whom God intended for you?"

"God? God is a ludicrous fantasy, designed to provide a career opportunity for the third son of a titled family. I am only glad Father did not force me to go into the military, as is traditional for a second son."

"I am glad of it too. Your best friend John was in the military, though. Wasn't he a medic? You should ask him to stand up for you as your best man."

The Marquis groaned. "I do not wish to be subjected to the detailsof planning this farce of a wedding."

"You must have a best man. Ask John, and Mr.s Hooper and I will take care of the rest of the details."

"I shall do so. Leave me now, Mother. I must take refuge in my mind palace or I shall go mad."

"I shall speak with you again once the arrangements have been made."

He gave a curt nod of dismissal and the dowager Marchioness left the room.

 _ **So**_ , he thought, _**if I must be married, I shall just have to make the best of it. The sooner I get the girl with child and fulfill my duties to provide an heir for the Sherrinford title, the sooner I can be left to my own devices**_.

He retreated into his mind palace to provide some solitude from this unwelcome turn of events.

It was only when the housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson appeared with a fresh tray of ginger nut biscuits, that he forced himself to return to the present. At all costs, he had to make sure Janes Moriarty did not have the opportunity to steal the title of Marquis of Sherrinford for himself.

 **Author's note:** The very first romance novel I read as a teenager was "The pretty Little Horse-breakers," by Barbara Cartland. Reading that novel began a long obsession with her beautifully sweet and romantic stores, set usually in the Regency era. I loved reading about the different noblemen, and would go to various libraries in my area just to find more of Barbara Cartland's novels to read. Incidentally she holds the world record for the most books published in a year, 26, (a book every two weeks? Phew!) and wrote 723 books in her career, most of them historical romances.

This is my attempt to write in the style if Barbara Cartland, while still remaining faithful to my own Sherlock universe. Therefore the events in this multi-chapter chronicle will all be part of my "real" Sherlock's dream.

I hope you enjoy my flight of fancy. If you are a Barbara Cartland fan, I would love to know if you think I remain faithful to her writing style. I hope you also enjoy the "Easter eggs" I incorporate from the series.

By the way, what did you think of me making Mrs. Hudson the housekeeper? I couldn'r resist, and I had a laugh over that!

Titles for the chapters are titles of Barbara Cartland books.

I apologize for any typos you may find. I proof read as best I can, several times over, but, like Sherlock "I always miss something." I am legally blind so do have a lot of trouble finding errors (especially n and m). If you find errors, please pm me and point them out and I will edit and re-load. Thanks!


	2. The Bartered Bride

"You are to marry the Marquis if Sherrinford," Mrs. Hooper told her daughter.

"But Mama, how can you be telling me such a thing? We have not even met!"

Even as she said the words, Molly thought dreamily of the incredibly gorgeous man she had seen at the front of the church, when her family had attended his father's funeral just over two weeks earlier. Lord Sherlock was tall, dark and oh, so handsome that her stomach fluttered just thinking of him. She longed to run her hands through those curly, ebony locks, just as she wondered what it would be like to kiss those full and beautifully defined lips.

The man had impossibly high cheekbones, sensual lips and the most arresting blue-green eyes she had ever seen. He had given his father's eulogy in a deep voice that sent little thrills through her body, and she had fallen instantly in love.

He had not seen her gazing at him during the eulogy. His eyes of course had been open as he spoke about his father, which was when she had seen how incredibly unique his eye colour was, but the new Marquis of Sherrinfird's mind had obviously been elsewhere, as he rattled off the prepared speech.

Now, Molly focussed her attention again on her mother, who was answering her question.

"The new Marquis's father left the estate in a huge amount of debt. His mother and your father have come to an arrangement. You will marry Lord Sherlock and become the Marchioness of Sherrinford, and the Marquis will receive the funds to return his estate to solvency for you and your future children."

"So, I am essentially being bartered in exchange for Papa's money?"

"I'm sorry, darling. You know your father wants you to make a good match. Your prospects have been somewhat lacking due to your broken engagement and the nasty rumours that Tom spread about you. And to think we thought he was such a decent man at first..." Mrs. Hooper shook her head.

"He tried to force himself on me. That's why I broke off the engagement. Why do people think I would have tarnished my reputation by being with another man?"

"Unfortunately, people talk. This is a man's world, my darling, and the word of a man carries much more weight than that of a woman."

"It's not fair, Mama!," passionately. "I was not even given a chance to defend myself, to tell the truth. Instead, I - we, have been ostracized as a result." Tears formed in the young woman's eyes as she spoke, and her mother hugged her.

"Lord Sherlock appears to be a very intelligent man, and one of the highest integrity. I have heard he has even assisted the local constabulary to apprehend some nefarious criminals, due to his scientific knowledge and deductive skills. He is a very learned man. However, Molly, I want you to be happy. If you absolutely feel you cannot marry him, I will speak to your father, and we will attempt to come up with some other solution."

The girl thought for a moment. Her parents wished her to marry a man who did not love her, but she most certainly loved him. Could she live with a one-sided relationship like that? Could she perhaps make him fall in love with her, at least a little?

Her mind made up, Molly said, "Tell Papa I will marry him. I will marry the Marquis of Sherrinford."

Amy Hooper smiled at her daughter. "I'm proud if you, Molly. Your sacrifice will make the lives of the Holmes family better, and it will restore your father's honour to have a Marchioness for a daughter."

"Mother, I must be completely honest with you. I am not exactly making a sacrifice. You see..." she hesitated, then stammered a little, I...I love him already. From the moment I saw him at the funeral, I fell in love."

Mrs. Hooper looked at her daughter in surprise. "You love him already? That should make things somewhat easier, because there is one other thing I must telk to you about."

"What, Mama?"

"Lord Sherlock has requested that he not meet you before you wed."

"That's ludicrous!" expostulated the young woman. "Am I not to even be given the opportunity to make him care for me before the wedding?"

"I'm afraid not, my darling. You shall have to teach him to love you once you are narried. Make him see that your opinion counts for something, that you matter to him. Above all, love him and do as he asks."

"Mama, if you are inferring I must allow him to...to make a baby with me, I refuse. I shall remain childless and chaste until he falls in love with me."

"But darling, what if you are unsuccessful in capturing his heart? He needs an heir."

Molly snorted. "There will be no heir unless I know he truly loves me. If he tries to force himself on me, I shall slap his face."

"Well, it may have worked to allow you to run away from Tom, the night he attempted to force himself upon you, but I'm not sure you will be able to escape your husband. You will have no legal way to deny him access to your bedchamber. Won't you reconsider, dear? You love him already. Surely it would not be so dificult to pretend he loves you as well? I am sure he will be gentle with you. There is talk in the village that he has never taken a lover, because he was always too busy with his experiments and helping the local authorities with their cases. Perhaps you will enjoy the intimacy together."

"I don't care,"said Molly passionately. "I shall not allow him to make love to me until I am certain he is doing it for me, and not to produce an heir."

"Well, child, I suppose you must do what you feel is right. I shall pray the Marquis and you will come to find happiness."

"That is what I want too, even if it takes seven years, or the rest of my life."

Mrs. Hooper left the room and Molly buried her face in her hands. She was going to marry the man she loved, who did not love her. At least she had some advantages.

She had spent several years in America, while her father was making his fortune. He had encouraged her to go to an American university. America was far more progressive than England, and allowed women to further their education far beyond what was offered in England. As a result, Molly was very learned indeed, and had studied the sciences, including chemistry.

As an only child, Molly had also been taught how to successfully run a household. She knew how to plan meals, dinner parties and even balls. Had it not been for her disgrace, Mr. Hooper would have hosted an annual ball for all the nearby estate owners, and Molly would have co-hosted with her mother.

 ** _I will win Lord Sherlock's love,_** she thought determinedly. **_I shall make myself indispensable to him._** She would never give up.

Two weeks later, Molly's father presented her with a ring. The sapphire surrounded by diamonds fit her hand perfectly and it glittered on her finger whenever she moved.

Sometimes she would look at the ring and pretend that Lord Sherlock had given it to her personally, that he loved her as she loved him.

Her friend Kaitlyn had exclaimed over the ring, saying it was a ring fit for a princess.

Upon discovering that the Marquis was to have only a best man to stand with him, Molly asked her dearest friend to be her maid of honour. Kaitlyn was her only friend, the only one who had steadfastly stuck to her side when the scandal of her broken engagement had erupted. Her former so-called friends had shunned her, but Kaitlyn would not believe a word that cane out of that "horrid" Tom's mouth.

Molly had been touched. Kaitlyn was a true friend. It had been to her that Molly had confided she was already in love with the man she was to marry.

"He certainly is handsome, I'll grant you that," her friend had said. "I remember seeing him at some of the balls around here, although not in the last few years. You were probably still in America when he went to them. I think his mother forced him to go. He always just stood there at the edge of the dance floor, looking broodingly handsome. I do remember him waltzing once with his mother, though. He is really a fine dancer, and I expect he must have had lessons at some point."

"I wonder if he will dance with me during our wedding reception?" queried Molly with a dreamy smile.

"Wow, you really are head-over-heels for him aren't you?" remarked her best friend.

"All I want is for him to fall in love with me and I'll be the happiest woman in the world," she declared.

"Well, if anyone can melt that icy exterior, I expect it will be you," responded her friend loyally.

As days turned into weeks, Molly's nerves and anticipation grew. Then, it finally arrived.

It was her wedding day.

 **Author's note:** So, this is Molly's perspective of the upcoming nuptials. Did you notice my nod to Big Bang Theory, by calling her parents Sheldon and Amy Hooper?

Did anyone pick up on the fact that the engagement ring sounds like that worn by the late Princess Diana?

Thank you for reading. If you are following my story, please do consider reviewing it as well. Would you like to see more of this type of story?


	3. The Bored Bridegroom

It was his wedding day. Lord Sherlock had been dreading it. It had been several weeks since the conversation with his mother.

The wedding license had been procured, the banns read in the local parish in which they were to be married. It was fortunate that they shared the same faith, even if he didn't adhere to it himself. His parents had been devoted church goers and Violet Holmes still attended the local parish each week. The Hoopers, and presumably their daughter, were also regular worshippers there.

Wedding invitations had been sent out, most of which were accepted. Those people in the surrounding area who were not familiar with his role as a titled lord, were familiar with his work as a scientist who helped to solve crimes. Violet Holmes had exclaimed excitedly over the list of people who were to attend the reception; Sherlock had been merely bored, not bothering to listen as he returned to doing his latest experiments.

Mr. Sheldon Hooper had been over to have him sign the papers relating to the dowry he would be given upon the marriage being made official. The man had encouraged him to change his mind about meeting Molly before the wedding, but he had respectfully declined. He would have many years ahead with the young woman. The Marquis had, however, produced a ring for his fiancée, a large sapphire surrounded by diamonds, that had been his paternal grandmother's engagement ring. He had left it up to the girl's father to make sure it fit correctly.

Lord Sherlock thought again with distaste about his intended bride. She was undoubtedly like most of the other young ladies, banal, insipid and boring, with little or no education. Young girls were taught needlework and how to run a household, although the latter he supposed would be a good thing. He was not looking forward to carrying on a conversation with the girl. He only hoped she was attractive enough that he would be able to perform his husbandly duties.

Now, that was a disturbing thought. Presumably she was a virgin, as was he. Of course, his father had discussed the mechanics of entering into a sexual union, had even offered to furnish him with a courtesan to teach him the arts of love, but he had refused. He had told his father he considered himself married to his work. Of course, Mycroft had derived great pleasure in informing his younger brother of his many sexual encounters, discussing the intimate details with great relish, until he had run off with that trollop.

The Marquis only hoped he could muster some desire for his wife, if he was to attempt to produce an heir with her. How many times would he have to force himself to lay with her before she was with child? That prospect alone, if he was honest with himself, terrified him.

Yet here he was, the proverbial sacrificial lamb being sent to the slaughter, in the sane manner as the girl he was being forced to wed.

Time had kept ticking, and the young Marquis stood at the front of the church, along with his best and only friend, John, who had been delighted to act as best man. In fact, it had been an interesting conversation, he thought, reflecting back on it.

"You? you're getting married?"

"I know, John. You are aware of the change in my circumstances aren't you?"

"Yes, of course. Your brother ran off with that Adler woman."

"That is correct. With my brother disinherited, and my father's passing, I have assumed the title."

"Well, I know that already, of course. But why the rush to marry? I can understand it has now become necessary if you are to produce an heir. You don't want that nasty second cousin of yours to inherit, but why now?"

Lord Sherlock sighed. "Apparently my father made a number of bad investments which have ruined us. Our neighbour has offered his daughter in marriage, and to pay off all our debts, as well as injecting a huge sum of money into the estate to make it a viable source of income once again."

"Why would he want to help you?"

"Oh he is not doing it for philanthropic reasons, I assure you. He wants a title for his daughter. There is also some scandal about her, a broken engagement and gossip about her. Mother assures me it is not true and that the girl is not to blame, but there it is. My only way out is to marry the damned girl, not that she's a girl either. Who knows if she will even be able to conceive at the age of 27."

"As a doctor, Sherlock, I can inform you with confidence that your future wife still has many years of fertility ahead of her."

The Marquis shrugged. "So will you do it, then? Will you be my best man?"

"Of course I will. I'd be honoured."

"Thank you, my friend."

As the Marquis was waiting in front of the vicar, Pastor Briggs, for his bride to arrive, he had a sudden thought. "Did you remember the rings?" he whispered urgently to his friend who stood beside him.

John patted his coat pocket and smiled calmly. "Deep breaths, Sherlock. You are getting married, not going to the guillotine."

"I might as well be," muttered Lord Sherlock.

The church was filled with people, none of whom Sherlock cared about, except his mother, the housekeeper and Inspector Lestrade whom he helped out occasionally with solving crimes in the neighborhood.

As the sound of the wedding march began, the Marquis had to restrain himself from clenching his fists. Why was he so damned nervous? He kept his gaze looking forward until he felt the strange woman arrive at her position next to him.

He caught a whiff of what he perceived to be honeysuckle, and glanced sideways at the veiled woman. Her head was crowned with a wreath made from honeysuckle, but he could not see anything of her face, because the veil was made of heavy lace. It was a wonder she had been able to see at all, as she walked down the aisle. She was petite, he could see that immediately, at least eight inches shorter than his own height of six feet. Her gown was white, and obviously expensive, judging by the fine lace with tiny pearls sewn throughout the bodice and full skirt.

The service began, and Molly Hooper's father presented his daughter's hand for Lord Sherlock to rake before sitting down. The Marquis looked down at her small hand, which was trembling slightly in his firm grasp, and it felt very cold. He hoped she was not about to swoon. He looked at her again through her veil, but his eyes were still unable to penetrate the lace that obscured her face.

The marriage ceremony proceeded and Sherlock repeated his vows after the vicar in a deep voice which sounded more confident than he felt. He was rather surprised that his bride's voice, when she began to say her vows, was musical and soft, but clear and confident, in contrast to her trembling hand.

The exchange of rings was made. Several other things happened that the Marquis only vaguely registered. This whole thing felt like some sort of dream. He was brought back to the present when John nudged him and hissed in his ear, "You're supposed to kiss the bride now, Sherlock."

This was the moment of truth, he was to finally see the face of the woman he had just married, till death did them part. Hesitantly he lifted the veil, keeping his eyes at first focussed on making sure it was pushed back properly. Then he looked down at last, directly into a pair of soft brown eyes. He stared for a moment, mesmerized by the limpid pools, and finally saw the rest of her face.

She wasn't beautiful in the strictest sense of the word, but everything was nicely symmetrical and her lips, dusted with just a hint of colour, looked rather inviting. He bent his head, intending to just brush her lips with his, but the softness of those lips urged him to continue a little longer, and his eyes drifted shut as he felt a sudden tingling sensation. Her lips parted slightly and he felt, rather than heard her slight, sudden inhalation.

The sound of clapping alerted Lord Sherlock to the fact that he had to end the kiss before it became embarrassingly and inappropriately lengthy.

The viccar pronounced a final blessing and it was over.

The Marquis and new Marchioness made their way up the aisle, amidst words of congratulations. As the walked, he glanced at the woman beside him. She was smiling, and he felt an unaccountable fluttering of his heart.

During the wedding reception, which was tedious with far too many food courses, speeches and people coming up to congratulate him and his bride, Lord Sherlock remained mostly silent. He was not going to pretend he was a happy bridegroom.

He assumed a look of boredom and let the conversation wash over him.

The new Marchioness however, was positively radiant. She engaged everyone who came to them in conversation. That was a good thing, he reflected. It took the pressure off him to make banal conversation. She was obviously better at putting on a front than he was. He listened to her well modulated, musical voice, not hearing the words she spoke. She had a very nice-sounding voice, he mused. He could probably tolerate holding a conversation with her, as long as she didn't spout inanities at him.

Lord Sherlock wondered how the woman, his wife, was able to look so genuinely happy. She couldn't have really wanted to marry a man she had never met, could she? Was she so desperate to wed that she would have accepted any random person's proposal? That had to be it, he decided. She was getting rather long in the tooth and wanted to marry so she could have a baby before it was too late.

If that was the case, she would certainly be eagerly awaiting him in her bedchamber later that night. He was nervous about it, but he supposed he could do his duty. She was more attractive than he had anticipated. Perhaps he could muster some semblance of desire, if they spent some time kissing first. A curious sensation occurred in the pit of his stomach. Was he actually looking forward to his wedding night after all?

Suddenly he realized his bride had addressed him and he had no clue as to what she had said.

For the first time since their eyes had met in the church just before he had kissed her, his blue-green gaze settled upon her coffee coloured one. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I'm afraid my mind was elsewhere."

"I understand, my lord," she said. "I...I was just asking if you were feeling quite well, my lord." She indicated his plate of food, which he had barely touched. "You don't seem to be eating." She had an endearing little stammer, he thought. She was undoubtedly nervous around him.

"I am afraid I do not have much appetite at present. It has been rather an eventful day." The Marquis suddenly registered the fact that she had called him "my lord." He would have to correct that. He knew some men like their wives to be submissive and defer to their husbands in that manner, but he was not one of thos men.

"Please do call me Sherlock. And I hope I may call you Molly?"

"Yes...yes of course, my...I mean Sherlock. That is a most unusual name."

"Well, as you undoubtedly heard in the marriage service, my full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes, but I have always gone by Sherlock, so I would not be confused with my late father, who was also named William."

"I...I like it,"she said shyly. "It's a very strong, commanding name - Sherlock."

He was surprised at her words. Nobody had told him anything of the sort before. In fact, during his school days, the other boys had made fun of him for his strange name. He quite liked the sound of his name on her lips. She formed the two syllables as if she were caressing them and he felt an involuntary tremor go through him.

His glance drifted downwards to her plate and he saw she had also eaten very little.

"Molly," he tested out her name properly for the first time, then said it again, "Molly."

Her lips parted, and she asked a little breathlessly, at least it sounded that way to him, "Yes, Sherlock?"

"I notice you have also not eaten much. Is the food not to your liking?"

He saw the blush that stained her cheeks as she answered, "No, I just feel a little queasy right now."

He wondered if her queasiness matched the knots in his own stomach. "I'm sorry." He glanced over at the area that had been cleared for dancing. Several people were waltzing. "Do you feel up to waltzing with me?"

She smiled at him, and Lord Sherlock saw that her smile reached her eyes as they crinkled slightly at the corners. When she smiled, she was rather beautiful, he thought, even as she answered softly, "I'd like that."

He took her hand and helped her to stand, then kept holding it as they made their way to the dance area. The crowd parted for them, they were the bride and groom after all.

Waltzing with his petite bride was not the easiest thing in the world. He had to bend down slightly so she could put her hand on his shoulder, and so that he could reach down to lightly grasp her at the waist. His left hand enveloped her small right one, and they began to waltz.

The Marquis was a very competent dancer. As a young man, his mother had insisted he take lessons along with his brother.

"You never know when you might be called upon during a ball to waltz."

Molly was very light on her feet, and he did not need to guide her as they moved around the dance floor. Most of the other dancers had stopped to watch the newly married pair. As the music finished, he twirled his bride around and bowed as she instinctively curtsied. The people assembled on the sidelines clapped and Lord Sherlock escorted Molly back to her seat, before seating himself.

To his surprise, his new wife took his hand. "Thank you, Sherlock," she said, with another lovely curve to her lips. The Marquis found himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her again. Would her lips be as soft and inviting as they had been the first time?

Suddenly he just wanted the reception to be over already so he could take his bride to her new home. John had abandoned him very early, needing to return home and care for his daughter. Nobody had been available to watch the infant because they were all at the reception.

The merriment continued. Mr. Hooper had provided both ale, wine and champagne for the guests. Sherlock had abstained from drinking. He had never been one to enjoy his liquor. He noticed Molly had only had a half glass of champagne herself.

The Marquis briefly considered indulging in a few glasses of champagne to provide "Dutch courage," but then he thought he wanted to have a clear head if he was expected to consummate the marriage. He already had enough to contend with, having no experience whatsoever with women. In fact, the bridal kiss had been the first time he had ever touched a woman's lips with his own. Had Molly spent a lot of time kissing her ex-fiancé, having stolen moments with him? The thought repelled him for some reason.

At last, a few of the older guests started to say their goodbyes to the newlyweds, and Lord Sherlock took that as his cue to leave with his bride. The bride and groom were expected to leave sometime during the evening, before most of the guests.

"I think it is time we left," he murmured to his bride, who had been talking animatedly with her one bridesmaid, a girl named Kaitlyn.

Molly turned to him. "Yes, Sherlock. I'll just go and say goodbye to my parents, and your mother."

"I shall join you, and we can say our farewells together."

His bride hastily said goodbye to her friend, then the couple made their way over to a table where the Hoopers and the dowager Marchioness were sitting, chatting amiably.

"It is time for me to leave with my bride," said the Marquis to the three people at the table.

"Of course," said Violet Holmes. She stood and offered her cheek to her son for him to kiss. Then she hugged her new daughter-in-law. You look lovely, my dear,"she said. "Welcome to the family."

"Thank you," said Molly shyly.

Mr. and Mrs. Hooper also stood. Molly's father gave his new son-in-law a firm handshake and said softly into his ear, "The funds will be in your account tomorrow."

For a moment, the Marquis was confused. What funds? Then he remembered. He had legally wed the man's daughter and was now entitled to her huge dowry. His expression darkened, but he simply said, "Thank you, sur," in a respectful voice. Mrs. Hooper kissed both his and Molly's cheeks, saying to her daughter, "Remember what I said, darling." Lord Sherlock noticed a stubborn look on his bride's face, and she was biting her lip.

They left the reception hall and the Marquis helped his wife into the carriage that Had been waiting to take them back to Sherrinford Hall.

As they rode in the carriage, Lord Sherlock asked, feeling unsure whether this was the right time to ask, but deciding he might as well try. "Molly? Would you mind if I kissed you again?"

He couldn't see her expression very clearly in the dim light that filtered into the carriage, but her voice was very expressive as she answered, "Yes, Sherlock, I would like that very much."

He lowered his head and his lips found hers for the second time. He was tentative at first, not really sure about how much pressure to exert on her mouth, but he had to admit to himself, he definitely liked it. He had never even considered kissing a woman before, but her lips tempted him, and he felt the first flickers of desire spread through him.

He deepened the kiss as her lips parted for him, and then he felt her small, delicate hands tangle in his curls. He enjoyed the sensation and put his own hands up to cup her face as he deepened the kiss still further. The flickers were fast becoming flames within him, and he pressed her back against the seat of the carriage.

She gave a little moan and arched her body towards him, and he could hear the blood pulsing in his ears. What was this woman doing to him? He would have continued exploring, had the carriage not stopped at that moment. They were home.

Lord Sherlock pulled away from his bride and straightened his tie in the darkness, glad there would be nobody to see his hair in its undoubtedly disheveled state due to the ministrations of Molly's fingers. Sherlock stepped down from the carriage and helped his new wife to alight.

The Hall was silent as most of the servants had been given the night off to attend the reception. There were several candles burning however, and a taper with more candles on a table near the front entrance. They had obviously been left there for him and his wife to take to their bedchambers.

"Come, I will show you to your bedchamber," he told his bride, after lighting a candle for both of them with the taper.

Lord Sherlock was not used to using the master bedchamber yet, and the connecting one had always been his mother's. She had just moved to the Dower house further down the drive, telling her son, "you are the Marquis now, and your wife will be needing the bedchamber next to yours."

The Marquis entered the room which had been his mother's and ushered his wife inside. He immediately noticed the valise on the floor, which presumably held her night clothes and had evidently been delivered earlier that day. "I'll leave you to get ready for bed," he said, giving her a chaste kiss before leaving the room.

Upon entering his own bedchamber, Lord Sherlock undressed, then put on a long, dark red, velvet dressing gown.

He allowed himself a few minutes to think about the night ahead. Curiously, he found he was looking forward to it. The kiss in the carriage had been enough to convince him that performing his husbandly duties would not be difficult after all.

He waited an extra ten minutes to make sure Molly would have had time to get into her nightwear, then he silently opened the connecting door to her bedchamber and slipped through it, closing it softly behind him.

 **Author's note:** What will happen next? If you are anxious to find out, make sure you leave me a review to tell me what you think so far! More reviews mean quicker updates.

Don't you think the Marquis of Sherrinford is very elegant sounding? I think it sounds very much like a Barbara Cartland type of name!

Merry Christmas everyone!


	4. She Wanted Love

Molly Hooper was nervous on the morning of her wedding day. As her maid of honour, kaitlyn helped her dress in the white bridal gown with tiny pearls sewed onto the fine lace, she felt queasy and unable to eat.

"What if he takes one look at me and changes his mind?" she asked her friend fearfully. "I know I'm nowhere near beautiful enough for him. Lord Sherlock is so handsome, he could have made any woman swoon over him if he wanted to."

"Molly," said her friend, "you simply must stop worrying about him. He is not going to change his mind at the altar. For one thing, you are lovely, and for another, he has no choice."

"I'm glad you worded it in that order," she told her friend with a wry smile. "I'm also worried about something else," she confided to Kaitlyn.

"Are you worried about your wedding night?" her friend asked. "He is a man. He'll know what to do."

"No, you don't understand," said Molly. "I've decided I can't be with him that way, unless I can make him fall in love with me."

"You're right," agreed her friend, "I don't understand. You are in love with this incredibly handsome man, any girl's dream. He will obviously be willing to do what he needs to have heirs. Shouldn't you be glad of that?"

"It's not enough. I don't want just his body, I want his heart as well."

"Pray heaven he doesn't force you into doing his will then," commented her friend.

"I don't think he would do that. Mama says he's a man of integrity. I just need to make him understand."

Kaitlyn merely shook her head, helping the bride finish getting ready, completing the ensemble with a wreath of honeysuckle over the veil. Molly flipped the veil back. She would only put it in front of her face when she entered the church.

When the bride was standing in the church, waiting for the wedding processional to begin, she clutched at her father's arm nervously. She felt cold all over and as if she might faint.

Mr. Hooper patted her hand, where it lay squeezing his arm. "It will be alright, child. Your mama told me you love him. Just think about that when you say your vows."

"Yes, Papa," she whispered as the strains of the processional began. Mr. Hooper adjusted the veil to put it in front of her face.

Molly walked down the aisle toward her groom. He did not turn around to look at her, but remained standing stoically forward. She could see the curls at the back of his head. He was so tall, with broad shoulders and narrow hips. Her breath caught in her throat.

It was only when she was standing beside him, that he turned toward her, taking her hand as it was offered to him. Molly felt her heart thumping in her chest frantically as she saw his blue-green eyes looking at her. She felt cold all over and very close to fainting. He was even handsomer up close than from the distance at which she had seen him during his father's funeral. Her hand trembled with the depth of the emotions surging within her.

Lord Sherlock repeated his vows after Pastor Briggs. Her hand continued to tremble as she listened to the deep timbre of his voice. She forced herself to speak clearly during her own vows, not wanting the man to know how much he affected her.

When the vicar finally announced, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride," Lord Sherlock had not responded immediately, and Molly wondered if he was going to refuse to kiss her. Then she had seen his friend nudge the young Marquis, who had lifted her veil and carefully placed it properly behind her head.

He looked searchingly into her eyes and set his lips to hers. She had been expecting the merest touch, but it was more than that. She couldn't help but draw in her breath at the wonderful feel of his mouth on hers, firm, yet infinitely sweet. She wished the kiss would go on forever, but of course, it couldn't. People were clapping and her new husband pulled away.

As they walked back up the aisle after the service, accepting words of congratulations, Molly couldn't help but smile. She was really his wife.

At the wedding reception, Molly determined she would enjoy it to the fullest of her ability. She talked with people and smiled so much it hurt. She noticed her new husband looking bored and not bothering to talk to anyone.

He seemed disinclined to ever say a word to her, and he barely touched his food. When she finally ventured to engage him in conversation, it took two tries to get his attention.

Then, he requested that she call him Sherlock. She had been prepared to defer to the usual manner of wives only saying "my lord," and it pleased her extraordinarily when he had invited her to use his name. She loved his name, and she also loved the way he said her name.

A short time later they waltzed together, and her heart quickened as he led her fluidly through the waltz, even ending by twirling her around before he bowed and she curtsied for their audience.

After their goodbyes were made and they were in the carriage, Lord Sherlock surprised Molly by asking to kiss her again. She didn't hesitate to give her permission, wanting to feel again his lips, to make certain the first one had not been an anomaly. It hadn't been, the second kiss was even better than the first, and she felt her love for him rising to the surface as she put her hands into his ebony curls. She found it hard to breathe. When he continued to kiss her, pushing her backwards against the seat, she let out an involuntary moan and arched her body towards him, wanting more. How she loved him.

It was perhaps fortunate that the carriage stopped at that moment, or she might have forgotten her resolve to tell him she wanted his heart before she gave her body to him.

The couple went into the huge depths of Sherrinford Hall and the Marquis showed her to the opulently furnished bedchamber with an enormous four-poster bed that dominated it.

As soon as her husband left her, she opened her valise and pulled out the diaphanous nightgown Kaitlyn had purchased for her saying, "You'll want this for your wedding night. The Marquis is sure to love it." At that point of course, Molly had not yet revealed her plan to win Lord Sherlock's love before they consummated their marriage. Molly struggled to extricate herself from her wedding dress. Without the aid of a maid it was quite a challenge, and she supposed under normal circumstances the new husband would help with the task, but the Marquis had obviously not thought of it either.

Managing to finish the task at last, Molly put on the nightgown and pulled the covers up so the Marquis would see nothing below her neck. Perhaps he wouldn't come in anyway. Molly yawned and felt herself drifting off to sleep.

She awoke suddenly and sat up straight. Where was she? What had woken her? Then she saw the man perched at the foot of the bed, and she remembered where she was and who was sitting on the bed. He gave a sharp intake of breath, and It was at that moment she realized the covers had slipped down to her waist when she had sat up so suddenly. With a little gasp, she snatched the covers back up and held them over her chest. She knew it was too late though. Her husband had made that sound because he had undoubtedly glimpsed the silhouette of her breasts through the transparent chiffon. She was mortified. Why had she packed this nightgown instead of the serviceable cotton one she usually wore?

"Molly?" her husband said, sliding a little nearer to her, causing her to clutch the covers even more tightly to her chest. "Why are you afraid? I'm your husband."

"Please Sherlock, don't come any closer," she begged, desperately afraid that if he continued to advance, her treacherous heart would betray her and all would be lost.

Lord Sherlock looked confused, but stayed where he was. "Molly, did you not enjoy it when we kissed in the carriage?"

"Yes," she whispered, unable to lie. He was still far too near for her liking when she was in this state of near undress. She suspected too that he wore nothing beneath his dressing gown.

"Molly," he said carefully. "you've never been with a man, have you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not, despite what my ex-fiancé told everyone."

"Well, as it happens, I've never been with a woman either. In fact, in an effort to be completely transparent, I never kissed a woman before our kiss in the church."

Molly gasped. "Never?" She was unable to process this information.

"Never," he affirmed, "so you see, I have no experience in these matters either. But I'm willing to make a baby with you. Don't you want a baby?"

Tears slipped down Molly cheeks. "I do, but not now, not this way."

"Why?"

"Because you don't love me."

"How can I love you?" he asked her reasonably. "We only just met. Before I met you, I was worried that I might not be able to fulfill my husbandly duties to you. After we kissed in the carriage, I realized that I want you Molly. I want to make love to you. Isn't it enough that I desire you?"

"It isn't enough, Sh..Sherlock. A man and a woman should be with each other only if they are in love."

He laughed dryly, "That's sentimental nonsense." Then he continued, in a more suggestive tone. "I know you want me too, Molly. I felt the way you arched your body towards me in the carriage, and I know your heart was beating fast, as mine was. Please, Molly. You want a baby and I need an heir."

That was what did it. He just wanted his precious heir. He was willing to do what needed to be done for that reason.

"Leave me alone, Sherlock. I will not be used as a mere vessel to house your precious heir. I have more dignity than that."

The Marquis said urgently, "I didn't mean it that way. Yes, I need an heir, but I think I could make you happy, make us both happy."

"Not without love." Her tone was firm.

Surprisingly, he acquiesced without further argument. "Very well, Lady Molly," and his tone was harsh as he accentuated her new title, "if that is your decision I shall have to accept it. I may have been forced to marry you, but I refuse to force myself upon you, seeing as the prospect of it is so distasteful to you."

With those words, he rose from the bed and slowly walked with dignity from the room, passing through the communicating door and closing it quietly behind him.

After the door closed, Molly turned onto her stomach and wept bitter tears into the pillow. Had she done the right thing? He had been willing to give her a baby, which she wanted more than anything. Wouldn't her love have been enough for both of them? He seemed sincere when he had said he thought they could be happy.

Then she thought again. She wanted what her parents had, a love that transcended the mere mortal plane. Theirs was a spiritual connection as well as a physical one. Didn't she deserve the same?

Molly dried her tears and resolved that she was going to try as hard as she could to make her husband fall in love with her. It was the only way she could ever know true happiness, and she wanted it for him too.

Her mind made up, Molly lay in the big bed on her wedding night, alone.

It was some time before she slept.

 **Author's note:** I have taken a bit of poetic license here with the Barbara Cartland aspect of the story. If you are a fan of her romances, you would be aware of the fact that the men are almost all extremely "experienced" in the ways of sex. In keeping with my personal Sherlock universe however, I have changed the premise so that Lord Sherlock is completely inexperienced, as is Molly. I think it's more fun this way anyway, having him experience emotions and desire for the first time.

What do you think about Molly refusing to be with him, even though he is her husband? Agree or disagree? Please post a review and make your opinion known. Your reviews make my endless hours of writing an insomnia a worthwhile venture.

Did you know that a lack of reviews kills creativity and leave stories unfinished? If you write fan fiction yourself, I'm sure you know that already. If you only read it, please consider reviewing any story you like (and I am not saying mine, I'm saying all the authors/stories you follow or favourite). There is no such thing as too many reviews, and there is no such thing as "I reviewed a chapter already, so I don't need to review again." Every chapter is its own labour of love.

Thank you for your support.


	5. The Marquis who Hated Women

Lord Sherlock lay in bed, staring upwards with unseeing eyes. Damn the woman anyhow. Damn all women for that matter, they were nothing but trouble. First, there was that Irene trollop who had seduced his brother into giving up everything he had been born to, for the sake of love. Then, his friend John had married a woman who had had the effrontery to die in childbed, leaving him a widower with a young child to raise alone, although he supposed the woman couldn't really be blamed for her weak constitution.

And now, the chit of a girl, his wife had REJECTED him after he had basically offered himself up to her on a silver platter. But oh no, it wasn't enough for him to be willing to bed her, she had the audacity to want love as well. He couldn't give her his heart when he didn't have one. The last time he had felt anything akin to love was for the family dog, Redbeard, who had been run over by the wheels of a carriage coming up the drive to the Hall many years ago. He supposed that he had lost the ability to love after that, and decided that God did not exist, because his best friend had been taken away from him.

How he hated his wife at that moment. The Marquis had been so pleased to discover that he had the ability to feel desire for his new bride, that he would be able to perform his duty, to make sure he provided the heirs necessary to prevent Moriarty from ascending to the marquisate. The most significant thing that had alerted him to the fact that he desired her though, had been what had happened when he had entered Molly's bedchamber and sat on the bed.

Molly had obviously fallen asleep and been startled by his presence. When she had sat up in bed, he had glimpsed the most perfect pair of rose-tipped breasts through the sheer fabric of her nightgown. Desire had surged through him such as he had never felt, or expected to feel for a woman. He had been unable to prevent himself from drawing in a breath. God, she was lovely. He had longed to touch those beautiful breasts, to kiss them and pay homage to them, as well as to her. It had been a heady feeling.

Lord Sherlock was certain the girl felt something for him. She had been only too willing to accept his advances in the carriage, and only the greatest of fools would have been ignorant of the fact that she would be expected to acquiesce to her husband's will on the wedding night, or any night for that matter. And yet he would not be the kind of man who forced his wife into submission, he had too much honour for that.

He let out a low, bitter laugh. He would show her that her rejection had not affected him. He would carry on with his life as if he was not married. If James were to become the next Marquis upon his death, what of it? He would not be there to see the destruction that would surely follow.

It was with these thoughts that Lord Sherlock finally fell into a restless sleep.

.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../

Sherlock Holmes shifted restlessly in his bed in Baker Street, his lips forming the words, "Molly," and slept on.

.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../

In the morning, the Marquis was up and out of bed before six o'clock. He went downstairs. The servants knew he was an early riser by nature, and breakfast was already waiting for him in the breakfast room. Covered silver dishes lined the side board, and Lord Sherlock selected food from several of the dishes.

Mrs. Hudson bustled in as he was eating. She was really more like his nanny than housekeeper, he reflected as she asked in the familiar manner of an old servant, "And how did you sleep, Master Sherlock?"

She had always called him by that name, rather than "my lord," having known him since he was but a babe in his mother's arms.

He shrugged. "I've slept better."

The old woman gave him a knowing look, obviously jumping to the erroneous conclusion that he had been too busy bedding his wife to spend much time slumbering. "Will your wife be joining you shortly? I would have expected you to sleep in late this morning, it being your wedding night, after all."

Damn the woman's impertinence. Nobody but she would dare to say personal things to him like that. Just because she had known him from birth, she assumed she had a right to know every private detail about his life.

"I have no idea what my wife is doing. I am not her keeper."

He stood, having finished with his breakfast. "If you see her, you can explain to her how things are run in this household. Assign her a maid, do whatever you want. I'm going out. I don't know when I'll be back."

"But Master Sherlock," expostulated the elderly woman, "don't you want to spend some time with your new wife? After all, you should be on your honeymoon."

"Mrs. Hudson, I'll thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself. Your are my housekeeper, not my mother. I will not tolerate you speaking in so familiar a manner to me, is that clear?" He knew he had hurt her with his harsh words. It wasn't like him to be so unkind to her, but at that moment the Marquis didn't care. All women were vile, loathsome creatures.

"Very well, Master Sherlock." She gave him a deferential curtsey and left the room.

The Marquis put on his long, black coat and swept out of the front door, closing it firmly behind him. He walked to the end of the garden. His father had built him a workshop years earlier, when he had seen his son's interest in all things scientific. The workshop had always been the young man's haven.

There, among his collection of chemicals, beakers and test tubes, he could dwell in his mind palace whenever he wanted solitude.

The servants at Sherrinford Hall never intruded upon him when he was there, and it was only on the rare occasion his mother had ventured forth to see her son on some urgent pretext.

The Marquis sat for awhile. He had planned on conducting a few experiments. There were always chemicals to combine, reactions to analyze. This day however, he could not focus on tasks that required precision. Instead he decided to go and seeJohn. He really needed a sounding board, perhaps some sage advice.

He walked to the stables and asked that a high phaeton be fetched for him. Sitting in the open air, upon a high perch and tooling the reins would be an effective distraction.

Once atop the vehicle, Lord Sherlock expertly drove his favourite horses, a pair of perfectly matched bays, to John's house in the village.

John lived in a modest house. He was the doctor for the village of Sherrinford, and

was often busy healing people from their ailments, or occasionally delivering a baby.

Fortunately, his friend was home nd answered Sherlock's knock.

"What are you doing here?" asked the doctor in some surprise.

"I had to get away from the Hall."

"Why aren't you spending the day in bed with your lovely bride? Don't tell me you found yourself unable to perform in the marriage bed?"

'It's not that. God, I hate women," spat the Marquis.

"Whoa, steady on, old chap. Tell me what happened. I know you've never been terribly fond of the fairer sex, but I never expected such vitriol from you."

"Women are God's curse to men," sneered Lord Sherlock.

"Thought you didn't believe in God," was the flippant reply.

"I don't know. I suppose I say such things, but don't necessarily really believe my own words. Someone has to be having a damned good laugh at my expense."

"Well, come inside and let's talk about it," the doctor said, opening the door wider to allow his friend entrance.

"Where's Rosie?" asked the Marquis, looking around as they sat down at the kitchen table.

"Sleeping. She was up most of the night."

Sherlock peered at his friend closely. John did look tired. "Is this a bad time? Maybe I should leave you to rest."

"Oh no you don't," said his friend firmly. "Something is on your mind, and you are going to tell me what it is."

"I don't know where to start,"

"Why don't you start from that definitely-not-a-peck kiss in the church?"

"She was rather more...attractive than I expected."

"Oh, so she made your heart pound just a little?"

"I have no heart."

"My God, Sherlock. You can be such a moron sometimes. So what happened at the reception after I left? I'm sorry I had to leave right after the best man speech."

"We talked a little, then we waltzed together."

"That sounds like a good start."

"I thought so. Then, in the carriage on the way home, I asked if I could kiss her again, and she said yes."

"Wait a minute, you actually wanted to kiss her again? You, who have never in your life been interested in a woman, to even consider a romantic relationship?"

"John, I think I have explained to you many times before - romantic entanglement, while fulfilling for other people..."

"Would complete you as a human being."

"That doesn't even mean anything."

"Of course it does. You just said yourself that you asked to kiss her again. That is a normal, red-blooded male response to romantic feelings."

"No, just a natural chemical response, undoubtedly caused by pheromones released.."

"Stop spouting your scientific drivel for a minute," interrupted the doctor. "What did you FEEL when you kissed her again, and I presume you did so?"

"A human response. I suppose you would call it desire."

"Lord Sherlock Holmes, feeling desire for a woman? It's a miracle, hallelujah!"

"Do not make fun of me," responded the Marquis crossly.

"I'm sorry. This is all so new for me. My friend feeling desire for a woman."

"If it's new for you, how do you think I feel?"

"There's that word again, FEEL. Just so you know, you are a human being, not a machine."

"I wish I was a machine, in hindsight," said Lord Sherlock, rather sourly.

"What in God's name could have happened? Was your bride repulsed by your advances?"

"Not at all. I am certain she too felt this...desire."

"What's the problem then?"

"The problem is what happened when I went to her bedchamber later."

"Go on," pressed his friend.

"To cut a long story short, she rejected my advances, spouting some nonsense about not wanting to consummate our marriage because I didn't love her."

"She's apparently a romantic, then."

"Yes, well, I tried to get her to change her mind, said I could give her a baby and she could give me an heir.."

John's mouth dropped open. "It's no wonder she rejected you."

"Why? I was merely telling the truth. I said I thought I could make her happy, we could be happy."

"That was after the 'heir' thing though wasn't it?"

"Yes. What difference does that make?"

"You ARE a moron! No woman wants to think of herself as just a means to an end. You should have just tried to seduce her with pretty words."

"Perhaps I should have come to you for lessons," remarked Lord Sherlock dryly. "Anyway, the damage has been done and right now, I don't give a damn whether I ever see that woman's face again."

"That might be a little difficult, living under the same roof," said John practically. "You'll just have to learn to live with her, get to know her. You never know, perhaps one day something will develop between you."

"Well, for now I intend to avoid the chit. I'll stay out all day and only return home once she is in bed."

"That's your choice, my friend. I hope you won't live to regret it. How do you propose to eat your meals outside of the house?"

"I shall have the chef prepare me meals I can take with me during the day. Or I'll come and see you."

"No way. I'm not getting in the middle of this," expostulated John. "If you want my honest opinion, I say woo the girl, make her fall in love with you, if she isn't already, and pretend to care about her if you must."

"I will not deceive her in that manner."

"Then you had better hope you truly fall in love with her,and all will be well."

"I won't. Of that you can be sure. Well, I must be off to work on my experiments. Goodbye for now my friend, and thanks for listening," said the Marquis.

He left the doctor's house and tooled his team of horses back to the Hall, back to his workshop.

Lord Sherlock did not return to the big house until he was certain his wife would be asleep.

For three days he crept outside at dawn, returning very late. The first evening he had asked his chef to pack him a lunch and dinner that could be eaten cold, and the man had placed several dishes in a picnic hamper for him to use.

After three days of solitude though, the Marquis was starting to get tired of nothing but cold food. So he returned to the house in time to eat his dinner, resolving to ignore his wife if she should enter the dining hall while he was there.

Unfortunately, it seemed the new Marchioness had other ideas.

 **Author's Note:** So the Marquis is not a very happy man right now. What will Molly do to try to get through to him?


	6. The Unpredictable Bride

The morning after her wedding day had arrived. Molly woke to the sound of a knock on her door. At first she thought it might be her husband. Perhaps he had thought things through and wanted to get to know her, to develop a relationship with her.

She was disappointed however, to find it was only a maid.

"Mrs. Hudson sent me up, my lady" she said, after curtsying. "I am to be your lady's maid."

Molly realized with a start that she was now a titled lady. There would be no more "Miss Hooper." From now on it would be "my lady." She was now Lady Molly, Marchioness of Sherrinford.

"Mrs. Hudson sent you up, not my husband?" she inquired of the girl.

"I believe he requested that Mrs. Hudson make all the arrangements in regard to your comfort."

Lady Molly sighed. "You may assist me to get dressed. What is your name?"

"Kayla, my lady."

"That is a very pretty name," she remarked.

"Thank you, my lady. What gown would you like to wear?"

Molly walked over to a wardrobe. Her father had bought her an enormous trousseau, and had it delivered a few days earlier. Presumably the dresses would be already in there. She was correct in her assumption.

The wardrobe was filled with morning dresses, day dresses, two riding habits and several elaborate evening gowns as well as three opulent ball gowns.

Molly selected a dress of sprigged muslin in a pretty shade of green that complemented her chocolate brown eyes.

Kayla assisted her to dress, pulling the laces at the back of her corset tightly to show off her mistress's small waist, before helping her into the gown.

"I can also do your hair, my lady," said Kayla.

"Very well. I do not require anything too elaborate, as it is day time. Perhaps a chignon?"

"You still have lovely curls from your wedding. Forgive my presumption, but it would be a shame to straighten them out. May I suggest I leave your hair loose, but just pull back the extra curls to give you a more practical appearance.?"

"Thank you Kayla, I should like that."

Once Kayla had finished arranging her hair, Lady Molly inspected her image in the full-length looking glass that stood a few feet away from the four poster bed. She smiled in satisfaction at her reflection. Surely her husband would notice and approve of her appearance?

Unfortunately, the new Marchioness was disappointed to discover that the Marquis had left the house early that morning and there was no time given for his return.

Molly felt deflated. She had gone to so much trouble for her husband, in an attempt to look attractive for him, and he was not even here to see the result of her efforts.

For three days Lady Molly had dressed for the day, then changed into more elaborate attire at night without glimpsing her new husband, as she ate her evening meals alone in the enormous dining room. She had resolved to say nothing of the man's continued absence, not wishing to provide gossip for the servants. They were already undoubtedly speculating about the fact that their Master never spent the night in her bedchamber.

The young Marchioness decided to just make the best of things. She continued her daily routine of changing her clothing from morning gowns, to day dresses, then evening gowns as well, as if her husband was there to admire them. He could not avoid her indefinitely, after all.

On the fourth day after the wedding, in the evening, Lady Molly selected a pink satin gown to wear. It had a wide neckline and full skirt, with stiffened petticoats beneath the skirt to provide fullness, and the corset underneath made her waist look tiny. Kayla had arranged her hair into loose ringlets that fell to her shoulders very becomingly. Molly wished she had natural curls, but Kayla was very skilled at dressing her hair, and willing to spend the time necessary to create the artificial illusion.

The Marchioness walked downstairs, determined to hold her head up high, and knowing she looked her best, even if there was noone to see her except the servants.

Lady Molly was completely unprepared for the sight that met her eyes when she entered the dining hall for her lonely dinner.

Lord Sherlock sat at the end of the table, calmly eating. She was unable to contain the gasp of surprise that escaped her lips. He looked so elegant, in his waist coat and frock coat that emphasized his broad shoulders, and the tie knotted at his throat. He allowed his curly hair to remain untamed, unfashionably allowing curls to cover his forehead.

Hearing her gasp, the Marquis glanced up briefly. His eyes widened slightly, then he cast his gaze downward and resumed his meal.

Molly wondered if he was making a deliberate attempt to ignore her. He had managed to avoid her for three days, after all.

She thought for a moment. If she wanted to win his love, she was going to have to converse with him. She would just engage him in conversation, whether he wanted it ir not.

As a man of breeding, he would be honour-bound to answer her if she asked him a question directly.

"Good evening, Sher..." she hesitated, then changed his name to the more deferential term, "my lord." After the way their last conversation had ended, Molly felt it would be better to not refer to him in such a familiar manner, unless he invited her once again to do so. He did not.

"My lady," he glanced at her briefly and acknowledged her with a brief nod, adopting a tone of polite indifference, as he too used her formal title.

This was not going to be easy. He was obviously not about to volunteer any information on his activities of these past three days, unless she questioned him about it.

The Marchioness sat down on the chair to the right of her husband.

She was surprised and a little hurt when he looked at her again and said brusquely. "Your place is at the other end of the table."

She was not about to let him bully her, however. She could tell by the way he spoke, that he was still angry about the events of their wedding night.

"I prefer to sit here."

"As you wish," the Marquis inclined his head, returning his attention to his food, as if he was eating the most delicious meal in the world.

She attempted to break the ice with a friendly, "I hear you are a man of science. Would you mind telling me about your work?"

He still refused to afford her more than a glance. "You wouldn't understand it," he said in a cutting, dismissive tone of voice.

"I take it you see me as nothing but an ignorant country girl," she said, a little more sharply than she had intended.

He glanced up once again, this time searching her face, as if he could find the answers he was looking for in her countenance.

Before Lady Molly could continue, a footman brought in a meal for her. He had served her before, and she had asked his name on the first day.

"Thank you Wiggins," she said with a smile. "Please tell chef Ramsay that it looks delicious."

"Yes, my lady," answered the young man with a slight bow, before leaving the room.

She noticed that her husband had looked up again as she spoke to the footman. He was obviously surprised that she had taken the time to learn his name, and the name of the chef.

Noticing that the Marquis was almost finished with his food, and not wanting him to leave the dinner table before they could converse further, the new Marchioness asked Lord Sherlock directly,

"So, my lord, DO you see me as an ignorant country girl?"

Her husband kept his gaze fixed on the food he was putting on his fork "I neither know, nor do I care." There was an unmistakable edge to his voice that Molly did not miss. Tears pricked her eyes but she blinked them away. She was not about to let him see her weakness.

"Why were you not willing to meet me, to get to know me before our wedding?" It was a question that had been burning in her thoughts for weeks, and she really needed to know.

He looked at her then, and his face was cold and autocratic as he said the hurtful words. "Because I did not want to give myself the opportunity to break off the engagement once I saw you. Perhaps, in hindsight that would have been better, seeing as neither of us is going to get what we want."

His words wounded her. Unable to take another minute of his callousness, she stood, making a dignified exit from the dining hall.

It was only when she reached the privacy of her own bedchamber, that she allowed herself to release the storm of tears that had been brewing inside her.

She flung herself on the bed, feeling as if her heart would break. How was she supposed to get through to a man who had no desire to talk to her? If he was not even willing to give them a chance to learn about each other, how could she possibly succeed in winning his love?

It had all seemed so simple, when she had been planning it out in her own mind before the wedding day. They would marry. He would accept her conditions for allowing him to bed her, and he would get to know her. They would discuss his interests, and he would discover she was well-read. Then, Lord Sherlock would fall in love with her for her intellect. Oh yes, such a simple plan, until it all went wrong.

Lady Molly had not expected him to treat her so cruelly, so coldly. He didn't even want to get to know her. Was she to spend the rest of her days in this miserable existence, with a man who obviously despised her?

The one thing that convinced Molly not to just give up, was because of the events of the wedding day itself, when he had genuinely desired her. She knew she had affected him as much as he affected her. But for some reason he was afraid to love. Perhaps he needed more time to get used to the idea.

The Marchioness began to formulate a plan to make her husband fall in love with her.

A knock sounded at the door to her bedchamber. "Come in," she called.

Kayla walked in with a tray that contained her plate of untouched food from dinner, as well as a glass of wine. "His lordship said to bring this up to you."

Molly's mouth opened in surprise. He was certainly a mass of contradictions, callous one moment, then thoughtful the next. It gave her a small sliver of hope that he didn't really despise her, after all.

"If there's nothing else you need, my lady, I'll be downstairs. You can ring the bell when you need me."

"Thank you, Kayla, I shall have need of you shortly. I am about to write a letter to my father which needs to be delivered as soon as possible."

"Yes, my lady." Kayla curtsied and left the room.

One corner of the bedchamber housed an ornate writing desk, and Molly walked to it. She opened a drawer to find some sheets of paper with the Sherrinford crest. Taking a sheet from the drawer, she then found an ink pot with a quill laying beside it. Dipping the pen in the ink, she began to write.

"Dear Papa,

I write to you with a matter of the utmost urgency. I wish to have a good marriage with my husband, and I know you wish that for me also. I love the Marquis, but he does not love me. I have determined that my only course of action is to make him fall in love with me.

Therefore, I am humbly requesting that you arrange a ball, in which to introduce your new son-in-law and me as a married couple to society. If you truly wish for my happiness, please do as I ask, as soon as possible.

Your loving daughter,

Molly."

The Marchioness rang the bell for Kayla, and while she waited, folded up the missive and sealed it with wax.

When Kayla arrived, she handed the letter to her lady's maid with the instructions, "Please have this delivered immediately to my father. It is important that you not say a word about it to my husband. Can you do this for me?"

"Of course, my lady. I'll give it toWiggins, and he can ride over to your father's estate. It should not take more than an hour before your father receives it."

Thank you Kayla," she said gratefully, and the maid left the room holding her hopes for the future.

Molly sat down to eat her dinner. She hoped it wouldn't be long until her father responded.

 **Author's note:** Wasn't the Marquis so cruel to his wife? How long will it take for her to break through to him?

Did you get my little references to Chef Ramsay (as in Gordon Ramsay), and Wiggins, the young man who considered himself Sherlock's protégé?


	7. Afraid to Love

The Marquis watched as his new wife made a dignified exit from the dining hall. He felt a little ashamed of himself for being so cold to her.

He hadn't expected his wife to enter the room when she had. It had been a miscalculation on his part. He had come into the house early with the intention of eating his dinner and departing before she came down to eat.

And then she had come in and made his heart turn over in his breast. He had thought she looked beautiful on their wedding day, but she looked even more lovely this evening, and her petite figure had looked incredible.

He had made a conscious effort to control those wayward feelings though, unwilling to allow her any opening into his psyche. He had opened himself up to her when he had told her he had never even kissed a woman before her. It was humiliating. Who knew what other secrets he might divulge if his wife were able to manipulate him into feeling the desire he had admitted to her before.

Having finished his meal, Lord Sherlock waited while Wiggins came to take his empty plate.

The footman ventured to ask him, "Will her ladyship be returning to eat her meal?"

"I do not believe so, Wiggins," he had said. "Please have someone take it up to her ladyship's bedchamber on a tray. She will undoubtedly be hungry later. And add a glass of wine for her as well."

"Yes, my lord." Wiggins had removed the plates, and the Marquis propped his elbows on the table, steepling his fingers in the manner he used when entering his mind palace.

The Marquis retreated into his mind palace to contemplate his current situation. Over the past three days he had attempted to lose himself in his work, but thoughts of his bride, of Molly, had plagued him constantly.

He had gone over the conversation in her bedchamber a dozen times, wondering if he could have done something to effect a different result. If he had not mentioned needing an heir, would things have turned out otherwise? Then he remembered she had already been acting afraid before he said anything about needing an heir. She had even answered in the affirmative when he had asked if she wanted a baby. What he didn't understand was why she was so determined to remain chaste until he loved her.

This was a very convoluted puzzle, and he tried to make sense of it. Why would his bride demand his love, unless, perhaps she had those feelings for him? It didn't make sense, though. How could she love him if they had never set eyes upon one another before they met at the altar? She must be very romantically minded, if that was the case. He was unable to find a solution to this problem, so he moved on to the next.

Lord Sherlock found himself thinking about the word "love." He had scoffed at the notion to John, talking about sentiment being a chemical defect found in the losing side. Was he afraid of love? If so, why? Yes, he had seen his brother abandon everything for the sake of love. His best friend John had loved Mary, and now had to deal with the loss of his wife. His own mother had loved his father, but now she had nothing but heartache due to the bad investments that would have left them destitute if he had not married Molly.

Molly, he thought. Why had she reverted to calling him "my lord?" She obviously was a passionate believer in love. She wanted him to love her, but he couldn't, could he? He had loved Redbeard as a boy, and the evil wheels of a carriage had ended his loyal dog's life. He couldn't go through that heartbreak again. What if he were to fall in love with his wife, and she died? He would not be able to tolerate a loss like that. He was afraid of the word and what it meant, the loss of oneself to another.

The Marquis cane to a conclusion. He would guard his heart from love, but he would make an effort to at least get to know his wife. She had been an innocent victim just as he was. She deserved at least an effort on his part. Perhaps one day they could even be friends. His mind made up, Lord Sherlock spent the rest of the evening in his room, thinking about how he could try and make amends with his wife, if it wasn't already too late.

.../.../.../.../...

Caught in the deep embrace of sleep, consulting detective Sherlock Holmes shifted position again and said out loud to the empty room, "Forgive me, Molly."

.../.../.../.../...

The next day, Lord Sherlock did not follow his normal routine of leaving the house early to work on his experiments. Instead, he lingered in the breakfast room until Molly arrived.

He saw the surprise in her eyes when she came into the room. She was looking lovely, as usual. Her hair was fashioned into a loose chignon add tiny tendrils of curls framed her face. Her gown, a light blue muslin with a cornflower print on it, looked very becoming. Again, his heart lurched at the sight.

Deciding to take the initiative, he went up to her and bowed. He took her hand in his and felt it tremble slightly.

"Molly," he said, hoping she would accept him calling her once again by her Christian name. Her tentative smile encouraged him to continue. "I must apologize to you for my behaviour. I have had some time to think about things, and I realize I have been very unfair to you." Her hand trembled even more in his firm grasp.

"You were forced into this arrangement as much as I was. I would like, if you would permit it, to start over with you."

"In...in what way?" she asked him, with a slight stammer he found rather endearing.

"I would like to get to know you. It was very remiss of me to make no attempt to learn anything about you before our wedding day."

He drew her to a seat to the right of his own.

"Please, would you tell me a little about yourself?"

And she did. She told him about attending university in America, of taking courses in the sciences, including chemistry.

As he listened, the Marquis could not help but think this woman was a rare find indeed. What other woman of his acquaintance would have the slightest knowledge about science? She had asked him about his work, and he had cruelly rebuffed her. Now he could see she was truly interested in his work, and she was learned enough that she would probably be able to help him in his research.

"Molly," he took her hand again and asked, "would you like to come and see my workshop, my laboratory, if you will, where I do my experiments?"

Her eyes lit up as she responded eagerly, "I would love that, my lord! Do you...do you think I could assist you sometime with them?" It was intriguing that she was thinking upon the same lines, he reflected.

"Yes. An extra pair of hands would certainly come in handy at times. And please, won't you resume calling me by my name?" He raised her hand to his lips, then looked into her eyes and something intense passed between them. He had the sudden desire to kiss her, as he had done in the carriage, but knew it would be a mistake. He did not want her to get her hopes up.

Her voice was soft as she responded, "Yes my...I mean, Sherlock."

After breakfast, the Marquis showed his wife his workshop, his haven. He had never invited anyone to see it before, and it felt a curiously intimate thing to do.

When she would have inspected some things closer, he stopped her, saying,"Don't touch anything."

He saw hurt immediately cloud her eyes and added hastily, "Molly, I just mean right now. I would not want you to ruin that lovely gown. I must find you an over-sized housecoat to wear, if you are to assist me here."

The light returned to her eyes and she smiled at him, really smiled. Her smile reached her eyes and made their corners crinkle slightly, and it was a welcome sight to behold.

He and his wife spent the day together, discussing various subjects, discoursing on the current state of the Crown and how much longer the elderly king was expected to live.

"Who will ascend the throne after him?" asked the Marchioness.

"It will have to be Princess Victoria. There are no male heirs between her and the Throne."

"Having a queen will surely be interesting," she commented. Then she fell silent and the Marquis instinctively knew she was thinking about the word "heirs" as it pertained to them.

That evening, as the Marquis and Marchioness were settling down to dinner, a messenger arrived with a note for Lord Sherlock.

The butler brought the note to him on a silver salver, and he read it.

"What is it?" asked his lady wife.

"It's from your father. He wishes to hold a ball in our honour Saturday next. Apparently, all the noblemen in the county are to be invited, so they can gawk at us."

Lady Molly giggled, and he thought it was a beautiful sound. She had a musical lilt to her voice which translated into something quite lovely when she giggled.

"Master Sherlock," said the butler, with the familiarity of a servant who had been working for his father, and grandfather before him, "the messenger is waiting for an immediate response."

"Well then," answered the Marquis, "are we going to say yes to his request, my dear?"

"I would hate to disappoint my father," she said. "He suffered terribly after my broken engagement. I think he is hoping that this ball will restore his good name."

"Then we must certainly agree to do this." Looking at the butler he said, "Jeeves, please give the messenger the verbal message that we accept his request."

"Very good, my lord," responded the butler, before leaving the room.

"Well, Molly. I suppose we shall have to present a front to everyone at the ball that we are blissfully wed. Are you up for the challenge?"

"If today is an indication of how we can get along, l believe so," she replied.

They spent the evening together in the library. Lord Sherlock was reading the newspaper, and Lady Molly was engrossed in a novel she had found among the shelves. He noted it was by Jane Austen. The title was Pride and Prejudice.

"Interesting book?" he queried.

"Oh yes," she answered. "It's rather romantic really."

Lord Sherlock shook his head and resumed reading. He had been correct about his wife. She was most definitely a romantic.

As the hour drew late, the Marquis rose from his armchair. "May I escort you to your bedchamber?" he asked, offering his arm.

"May I take the book with me?" she asked, slipping her hand through his arm.

"Of course you may. This house is your house. Everything in it belongs to you now, as much as to me."

She flashed him another smile that caused his pulse to quicken.

He escorted her upstairs, pausing outside her bedchamber.

Lady Molly's eyes searched his face uncertainly. To ensure she did not think he would enter again without permission, he raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them, then said, "I will see you tomorrow." He bent down and kissed her cheek, then left her to go to his own room.

 **Author's note:** So Lord Sherlock is finally willing to try and get to know his wife (well, okay, he was only mad for like four days haha). Now we will get an opportunity to see him and his wife try and build a relationship.

Thank you to everyone who is following and favouriting my story. Your reviews are also important to me, so I can see what your thoughts are of the story. If I get a good enough response, I may try my hand at more of this kind of story.

How often do you like updates? I have been updating fast, every two days. I see many authors only update once or twice a month. Would it be better for me to allow more time in between chapters?


	8. Passage to Love

Lady Molly stood at the door to her bedchamber until her husband reached his door and went inside. Then she too went into hers.

She was in a complete state of bewilderment. Last night she had come up to her room, despairing of ever getting through to her husband, and had written that letter to her father,soliciting his help.

She had been completely floored upon entering the breakfast room that morning to find the Marquis in there, and even more-so when he had been kind to her. The contrast between his behaviour of the previous day, and that of today was so acute, that she seriously wondered if he had a split personality.

When he had taken her hand, she had involuntarily trembled at his touch, he affected her so.

He had apologized for his behaviour and made an effort to get to know her.

They had conversed as friends would, and he had suggested showing her his workshop. Then, when he had asked if she would call him Sherlock again, and had kissed her hand, she had quivered with the feelings evoked by the touch of his lips on her skin. He had then looked into her eyes and it was as if a spark ignited between them. She had wondered if he might kiss her again and had been a little disappointed when he hadn't.

Seeing Lord Sherlock's workshop had been a revelation. He was obviously passionate about his work in a way he didn't feel for anything else. That encouraged her. If he felt passion for his experiments, perhaps she could nurture it and turn it towards herself.

Lady Molly had also enjoyed the quiet domesticity of just sitting in the library together. She could imagine that scenario for years to come.

Then at dinner had come the letter from her father. Of course she had feigned ignirance about knowing what the contents would be, and she had been pleased when the Marquis had asked her opinion before accepting her father's request.

And finally he had taken her to her bedchamber, kissing both her hand and cheek before leaving her.

She pulled the bell rope for her lady's maid to assist her to undress.

Kayla came into the room soon afterward. The Marchioness had immediately bonded with the lady's maid. In the absence of her best friend Kaitlyn, she had begun to confide in the sweet, unassuming brunette.

Kayla alone knew for certain that the Marquis and Marchioness had not consummated their marriage, as she was the one who Molly called upon each morning to assist her to dress. The four-poster bed clearly showed that the Marchioness slept alone. Normally a chambermaid would make up the bed each day, but Kayla had taken it upon herself to do the task, so there was no evidence to show that Lady Molly was not joined by her husband each night.

"How was your day today, my lady?" asked Kayla.

"So much better than yesterday. His lordship behaved completely different to me. He was so attentive, and he even showed me his workshop."

The lady's maid's eyes grew round with wonder. "That is certainly something special. He NEVER lets anyone see that. He has always instructed the servants that he is not to be disturbed when he is there, in case he is in the middle of one of his experiments."

"Really?" asked the Marchioness in surprise. "He even invited me to help him. Of course, I did go to university in America and learned the sciences, in particular, chemistry."

"You are uncommonly intelligent, my lady. I am sure he appreciates that."

"I am hoping so. I wish to show him I can keep up with him intellectually. Perhaps our common interests will give him a passage to fall in love with me."

"Oh, my lady, I hope so. You both deserve happiness."

The next day, which was Friday, Lady Molly went to the breakfast room a little anxiously. What if her husband had reverted to his cold self and once again rejected her?

This was not the case however. The Marquis was already there, waiting for her. Covered dishes were on the sideboard, but he had obviously chosen to wait for her arrival.

The Marchioness had been a little later coming downstairs because she had been trying to find a gown that she could wear if Lord Sherlock took her again to his workshop. She finally selected a simple grey gown, which didn't have many petticoats underneath, that would hamper the fitting of a large housecoat.

Good morning, Molly," said her husband, coming over to kiss her cheek. "I like that you wore a more practical gown today," he commented approvingly. "I found a housecoat you can use inside my workshop."

Are we going there straight after breakfast?"

"No, I think we should spend our mornings getting to know one another, then go to my workshop after lunch."

Getting to know one another. Her heart gave a little flutter. This was exactly what she had been hoping for.

After breakfast, the Marquis showed his wife to a small drawing room where a cozy fire was blazing and there was a comfortable sofa with two armchairs beside it.

"Has anyone shown you the rest of the house?" he queried.

"No, Sherlock."

"It has been very remiss of me. I shall do so, before we have our luncheon. Shall we sit?"

He indicated the sofa and she sat, expecting him to take a seat on the armchair perpendicularly situated from it. To her surprise, he sat beside her instead, positioning himself at an angle so he could look at her without needing to turn his head too far.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself and your early life?" he invited. "Then I shall tell you about mine."

Molly looked at the impossibly handsome man who was her husband. Her mouth felt unaccountably dry. She swallowed and began to speak.

She told him about growing up as an only child, her years in Anerica, and her time at university.

Then it was Lord Sherlock's turn. He told her about growing up as the second son of a Marquis, and how he had been permitted to attend university to study the sciences and chemistry.. he had a great love of knowledge, and he enjoyed being challenged by puzzles.

He explained how he had been able to help Inspector Lestrade on several criminal cases, being able to identify clues that led to the culprits being arrested.

The new Marchioness listened in amazement. She had known Lord Sherlock was very intelligent, but not the true extent of that intelligence. The man was a genius.

At one point he took Molly's hand in his excitement over discussing one of his cases. Every time he touched her, it was as if a little flicker of flame ignited within her. She tried not to show how much he affected her, though.

Shortly before luncheon, her husband stood and she did too. He showed her the rest of the house, including the bedchambers. He showed her the room he had used as a boy. It had bookshelves lined with many books, which was rather unusual she thought for a bedchamber.

He even took her to the top floor to show her the school room and nursery, as well as a small bedroom where a nanny and governess would sleep.

"Of course there is no need for either at the moment. "I will employ them when..." he broke off suddenly, realizing what that would mean.

Molly blushed and finished his unspoken words in her head ** _...when we have our own children._** He didn't realize how truly desperate she was for a child, one with him, the man she loved.

She pretended not to notice his slip, merely nodding when he said, "Anyway, that's the upstairs. Let us have our luncheon now."

After luncheon, Lord Sherlock fetched the large housecoat he had told her about, and they made their way through the garden, to his workshop at the far end.

Once inside the workshop, which he also referred to as his laboratory, the Marquis helped Lady Molly into the housecoat, before donning one of his own from a peg hanging in the corner.

He explained one of his current experiments and seemed surprised by her intelligent questions about it, as well as suggestions for making it easier to obtain the result he was looking for.

They passed a pleasant afternoon together, Molly assisting Lord Sherlock in passing him various tools or chemicals as needed.

It was with some surprise that she realized the sun was going down, and it was time to return to the house to dress for dinner.

As it was beginning to get dark, the Marquis took his wife's hand as they returned to the Hall, knowing she was not familiar with the route back inside. Once they had gone upstairs, he drew Lady Molly's hand to his lips outside her bedchamber, saying, "I shall see you downstairs for dinner."

Molly could not help the quiver in her hand. It was rather embarrassing really, how he affected her so.

Kayla helped the Marchioness dress in a deep blue velvet evening gown that matched the sapphire of her engagement ring, then tidied her hair. Lady Molly felt quite beautiful.

When she entered the dining hall and saw her husband standing by his seat, looking elegant in his evening dress, her heart skipped a beat. As she drew closer to him, she saw a glint of admiration in his eyes.

"You look very lovely this evening, Molly," he said, waiting for her to sit, before he also sat.

They ate a splendid dinner. Chef Ramsay really was a world-class chef, she thought. After dinner, the married couple retired once again to the library. The Marquis again picked up the newspaper to read, while Molly rang the bell and requested that her book be fetched from her bedchamber.

They read companionably, then as the hour grew late, Lord Sherlock repeated the exercise of the previous day, kissingg Molly's cheek, before leaving her to return to her room.

The next day followed much the same pattern. After breakfast, the Marquis and Marchioness went again to the drawing room to talk. Lady Molly spoke more about her time in America, and Lord Sherlock told her about his brother Mycroft, and how the man had given up his inheritance to run away with Irene Adler. He had told her also of his younger sister's incurable madness, and how she was in an asylum. Molly could see how it hurt the Marquis to speak of terrible things to do with his family, but it made her appreciate him more, and the attempt he was making to be honest with her.

Lady Molly was falling more in love with her husband each day.

That evening at dinner, she asked her husband if he would attend church with her the following day.

Lord Sherlock hesitated. "It has been many years since I have set foot in a church, except for one week ago, when we were married, and my father's funeral before that."

"Please, Sherlock," she begged. "It would mean a lot to me."

He thought for a moment longer, then agreed. "Very well. I shall attend with you. But do not expect me to participate."

"That's fine," she answered, her heart light at the thought that the Marquis was willing to go with her. "Just having you there with me will be enough."

This time, when he left her outside her bedchamber later that night, he kissed both her hands as well as her cheek.

Lady Molly lay in bed afterwards, thinking about the curly-hared man she loved. Each day he was opening himself to her a little more, revealing the true man beneath. There was still something she felt that he was not telling her. There was something that had caused him to shut himself off from love, and she hoped he would eventually disclose it to her.

She fell asleep, wishing that her husband's arms were around her, and praying that he would come to love her.

 **Author's note:** Little by little, they are learning more about each other. What will happen next? Are you excited to find out?


	9. Learning to Love

The Marquis of Sherrinford called for the carriage to be brought around, in order to take him and his wife to the local parish.

Lady Molly had gone back upstairs to get ready for church.

Lord Sherlock thought about the past two days he had spent with his new wife.

He had been pleasantly surprised to discover she was not, after all, the ignorant country wench he had been expecting. In fact, she was far from it. The woman was very learned, obviously not to his extent, but certainly more than any other woman of his acquaintance.

She had made some helpful suggestions when it cane to doing his experiments. He also found it easy to talk with her. The Marquis had told his wife about Mycroft, and about Eurus as well. He had a feeling that soon he would be telling her about Redbeard, and the way his father had left the family destitute.

Lord Sherlock had also found that his heart beat unaccountably faster in Lady Molly's presence, especially when she was wearing one of her elegant gowns.

Now, he watched his wife descend the stairs in a beautiful gown of dark green silk. Her full petticoats and cinched in waist made him suck in his breath. Her lady's maid had arranged her soft brown hair so it fell in ringlets all around her head, and he thought he had never seen a more attractive woman in his life.

The Marquis helped his wife into the carriage and then seated himself. He couldn't help but remember the ride home in the same carriage just over a week earlier, when he had kissed her.

As they made the short journey to the same church in which they had been married, Lord Sherlock kept darting glances at Lady Molly. She had applied a small amount of rouge to her cheeks and a little colour to her lips, and he felt in indescribable urge to once again feel her lips against his. His heartbeat accelerated once again at the thought.

Once they arrived at church, and the coachman opened the carriage door, Lord Sherlock stepped out, then assisted his wife to alight. As they walked into church together, he noticed many eyes were upon them. He knew it was not because of Lady Molly, but himself.

The Marquis escorted his wife to the front pew, as was traditional for the most important family in the county. His mother was there, and he gave her an acknowledging nod. He almost laughed out loud at the shocked expression on her face. He had seen Molly's parents almost halfway back, and had acknowledged them with a nod as well.

Throughout the service, Molly paid close attention to it, and he followed her lead when it was time to stand, then when they had to sit again. During the sermon, as Molly watched the preacher, Lord Sherlock found himself watching her instead.

Lady Molly was obviously a devout believer. When she prayed, her eyes were closed, her hands were clasped, and her lips moved. It was another side to his wife that he filed away in his mind palace. He was starting to form a more complete image of the woman he had married.

At the end of the service, several people came up to the newly married couple. Violet Holmes took her son aside and whispered into his ear, "What are you doing here? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I would never have expected to see you inside a church again voluntarily."

"My wife asked me to come, so I did," he said, attempting to sound nonchalant.

"Well, I must congratulate her. Apparently she is already a good influence on you."

"She is not what I expected, I grant you that."

"I hope you are being kind to her."

"I am attempting to get to know her. She is uncommonly intelligent."

"And attractive as well, is she not?"

Lord Sherlock coloured slightly. "Yes, Mother, she is attractive as well as intelligent."

"Open your heart to her, dear. I have been praying for you both."

"I'm trying, Mother."

Violet Holmes kissed his cheek, then left him to talk to some other friends.

Molly had been conversing with her mother as well. The Marquis approached her and said politely to Mrs. Hooper, "Good morning. I trust that you and your husband are well? Molly and I are looking forward to the ball on Saturday."

"So are we," beamed his mother-in-law. "Molly has been telling me she has been assisting you with some of your experiments and research."

"Yes, she has. I must commend you on raising such a fine, intelligent young lady."

The lady beamed at him again. "Thank you. I am very proud of my daughter." Turning to her daughter, she said, "Molly, remember my words. I shall see you on Saturday."

"Yes Mama." Molly's face had coloured slightly, and Lord Sherlock wondered idly what the women had been chatting about.

As they went outside, the Marquis had an urge to go and visit his friend again for advice. "Molly, I should like to visit my friend John. Would you like to accompany me, or shall I have the coachman drive you home and return for me afterwards? John has an infant daughter, if you like children..."

He stopped suddenly, realizing how insensitive that might have seemed. "I apologize, Molly. I did not mean to infer that you might not like children. I just meant you might like to visit with her. I am sure you are aware that his wife passed away in childbirth?"

The Marchioness laid a gentle hand on his arm. "I am not offended by your words, Sherlock. I know you were not intending to hurt me in any way. I have heard about the sad story of the doctor's wife, and I would be glad to accompany you to your friend's house."

They departed for John's house and soon arrived.

Upon Lord Sherlock's knock, John answered the door, holding his daughter in his arms. There was a note of surprise in his voice as he asked, "Sherlock, what are you doing here? And with your wife as well?"

He looked further surprised when the Marquis informed him, "My wife and I have just come from church, and I thought I'd come for a visit."

John opened the door wider for the couple to enter. "It is nice to see you again, Lady Molly."

"You too, John. Please just call me Molly. You are Sherlock's best friend, after all."

"Very well, I shall do so."

'May I take the baby?" asked Molly eagerly. "I do so adore children."

"Of course." John handed over the infant, then looked questioningly at his friend. "Did you want to talk to me about something?"

He was a shrewd man, Sherlock thought. "Actually, I would like your advice, if it's not too much trouble. Molly, do you think you could watch the baby for a few minutes while John and I talk?"

"Of course. I'd be delighted to do so," smiled his wife.

Lord Sherlock felt his heart begin to accelerate again. She looked beautiful, holding the baby, and he couldn't help wondering what it would be like to have a child with her, and of course what it would be like to make a baby with her. A little flicker of desire passed through his body at the thought, and he said hastily to his friend, "Can we go into your back garden and talk now?"

"Of course." John led the way, and they were soon sitting on a bench together in the garden. John was the first to speak.

"Well, my friend, what gives? The last time we spoke, you were so angry with your bride. What has happened? Has she softened towards you?"

"If you are asking whether we have made love yet, the answer is no," said the Marquis, a little shortly.

"Well, what do you want my advice for, then?"

'I am finding myself increasingly aware of her. I avoided her for three days, was insufferably rude on the fourth, and after that I was ashamed of myself. So, I have been getting to know her. We have many similar interests. She is uncommonly intelligent and has been assisting me in my workshop."

John's mouth dropped open. "You never let anyone into your precious workshop. Do you think you are starting to care for her?"

Lord Sherlock thought about this for a moment. "Yes, I think so. I find myself happy to see her, and I enjoy the time we spend time together."

"So, what is the problem, then? It sounds like things are going very well."

"John, I must confess, I am afraid."

"Of what? Discovering you have a heart after all?"

"Yes. What happens if I allow myself to care too much and something happens to her, as did with Mary?"

"Say the words, Sherlock. What happens if you fall in love with her, not just care too much."

Lord Sherlock heaved a sigh. "Very well. What happens if I fall in love with her and she dies?"

"Oh, my friend, there is no point in always anticipating the worst. I don't regret my love for Mary, and I have a beautiful daughter as a result. You need to open your heart to love and have hope for the future. I am glad you are getting to know your wife, and I hope, for your sake, that you are able to lay your past hurts aside and take your chance at being happy. It will be worth it, I promise you."

Lord Sherlock stood. "thank you, John. I shall take your words under advisement."

The Marquis and his friend walked back to the house. Talking to his friend had been good. It had reinforced his own feelings that he was doing the right thing in getting to know Molly. It had also made him realize that perhaps his real problem was not that he had no heart, but that he was afraid of losing it to someone else.

Back inside John's house, Lady Molly was rocking the infant gently. The baby had fallen asleep.

Lord Sherlock's heart lurched at the sight. Was he falling in love with his wife? Or was he just so desperate for his own child and heir, that he was deceiving himself into thinking it might be possible. It was too early to tell.

The next few days passed swiftly as the Marquis and Marchioness continued their pattern of getting to know one another. It was on Wednesday, when Lord Sherlock read aloud the account of King William IV's death, that he ventured to say, "Thank God it was due to a heart attack, and not assassination by James Moriarty's hand."

Molly looked at him in surprise. "James Moriarty? Who is he?"

"He is the most evil man I have ever had the misfortune to know. He also happens to be my second cousin and heir presumptive to the Marquisate."

Molly put her hands to her mouth in horror. "You mean...you mean if you do not have a child and something happens to you, he will become the next Marquis of Sherrinford?"

"I am afraid so."

He saw comprehension of the situation come into her eyes, and tried to reassure her, as well as himself. "I have many years ahead of me, God-willing. If he dies before me, the next person in line becomes a younger second cousin of mine who would be a quite acceptable Marquis."

"But still..." she said faintly. "Your life could be in danger, and you need an heir to protect the future of your title."

"Do not think about that right now, Molly. I was not telling you this to make you feel any obligation towards me." In truth, he wished he had said nothing. He did not like to see the fear in her eyes, nor did he want her to think of him as only wanting an heir when he was truly making an effort to learn about her and get to know her.

Each night when Lord Sherlock left Molly at the door to her bedchamber, he wondered if he might kiss her goodnight. This night, he decided a chaste kiss on the lips would be appropriate. He obeyed his impulse, lifting his wife's chin with his hand and, leaning his head down, briefly brushed her lips with his. Instantly, a ripple of desire shot through him, and he felt once again the blood rushing in his ears as his pulse accelerated. He forced himself to leave her, although his eyes lingered on her mouth as he walked to his own room.

When he got inside his own bedchamber, Lord Sherlock took several deep breaths, trying to slow his pulse and regain control. He attempted to retreat into his mind palace to think things through dispassionately, but the image of his wife and her soft lips kept distracting him. He couldn't stop thinking of that kiss in the carriage and knew his heart yearned for more. There was something special, something unique about his new Marchioness.

If he had chosen a wife for himself, he could not have chosen better than her.

Was he falling in love with her after all? There was certainly a physical attraction, from the way his body reacted to her, but he sensed an emotional connection as well. Was that love?

Still mulling over these troubling thoughts, the Marquis finally slept.

 **Author's note:** Sherlock's heart is changing. How much longer do you think he will fight these feelings? Are you a believer in love coming so swiftly? I was just listening to a romance novel on my audio player, and a Duke fell in love with a woman in the space of one day. So perhaps my premise is not so far fetched. At least they are getting to know each other :)

A special thanks to those of you who faithfully review my chapters. You are the ones who make this labour of love a joy, because you take the time to comment. It makes the endless hours of writing and editing worthwhile!


	10. A Change of Hearts

Once Lord Sherlock had entered his own bedchamber, his gaze lingering on her face until he reached his door, Lady Molly lifted a trembling hand to her lips. They still tingled where he had kissed her. She had wanted him to kiss her again the way he had on the way home after their wedding reception.

Inside the bedchamber, the Marchioness did not immediately pull the bell rope for Kayla to assist her in getting ready for bed.

Instead she walked over to the writing desk and sat, crossing her arms on the desk and resting her chin on them.

The past few days had gone by as if she were in a dream. Her husband had been sweet and attentive to her. They had been in church together, and despite his words to her when he said he would not participate, he still stood when she did and sat, following her lead.

After the service, Sherlock had spoken with his mother briefly, and Molly had taken the opportunity to speak with her mother as well.

"How are you doing, darling?" her mother had asked.

"Quite well, Mama. Lord Sherlock and I have been getting to know one another."

"I gather he accepted your 'terms' for the marriage bed?"

"He was very angry about it at first, but he did not try to force himself upon me. He did avoid me for three days, was rather cruel of manner to me the next day, and after that he changed. For three days now, we have been spending many hours together. I assist him with his experiments, and we talk about our past."

"Have you told him about Tom?"

Molly flushed slightly. "Not yet. I will, when the time is right."

"The Marquis is obviously a very different man than Tom was."

"Oh Mama, Lord Sherlock is simply wonderful. I keep thinking that if he had gotten to know me before the wedding, things might have been different. Our relationship may have developed to the point where he felt more for me than he does currently. I can only hope that the end result will be the same."

Mrs. Hooper sighed. "Molly, you have always been such a romantic. Give him a little more time and then see how he feels. You cannot deny him forever, darling. If he comes to have an abiding affection for you, even if he will not utter protestations of love, let that affection be enough. Love him enough for both of you. You never know, he may come to love you afterward. If you give him a child, he will most certainly be grateful, if nothing else."

At that moment, the Marquis had approached, and he and her mother had exchanged a few polite words. Her mother had asked her to remember her words, before she said goodbye.

Lady Molly had felt stubbornness rising in her though. How dare her mother think she should just give herself to the Marquis, whether he loved her or not.

When the couple had gone to Dr. John Watson's house, Molly had thoroughly enjoyed her time with the little girl Rosamund. As she played with the baby, she had thought what it would be like to have her own baby with her husband. She had felt an overwhelming sense of longing for motherhood and had felt a slight shift in her heart.

What if she allowed Lord Sherlock to make love to her and she conceived? Even if he didn't love her, she would have a baby to love. A baby would love her unconditionally, and perhaps that would be enough to temper her heartache at not being loved by her husband.

For the past few days, as the Marquis and she had continued to spend time together, Molly hhad continued to think about her situation with her husband.

This evening, when he had remarked on the king's death and then gone on to tell her about his heir presumptive, Lady Molly had feared for his safety for the first time. She had understood also for the first time just how important it was for the Marquis to have his own heir. Yet he had told her not to think about it.

As she sat at the writing desk, her thoughts about it consumed her. Was she being unfair to her husband? Was it unrealistic of her to ask for Lord Sherlock's love?

Lady Molly pulled the bell rope. After Kayla had assisted her in getting ready for bed, the Marchioness climbed into the huge four-poster. It felt large and very empty, and she wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have the Marquis in bed with her.

That night she dreamed of him, dreamed he was kissing her,evoking those same sensations in her as when he had kissed her with that intensity in the carriage. She woke in the cold, empty bed with his name on her lips.

They spent another good day together on Thursday. When Lord Sherlock escorted her to her bedchamber in the evening, this time his goodnight kiss was a little longer, a little more intense. Lady Molly had the urge to throw caution to the winds and invite the Marquis into her room, but the part of her holding out for his love prevailed, and she merely smiled at him after the kiss.

On Friday, during their morning time together in the drawing room, Lord Sherlock finally told her about his father, the bad investments that had put the future of Sherrinford Hall and the estate at risk, and then about Redbeard.

There were tears in his eyes as he spoke of his love for his dog and the tragedy of the animal's death.

"You have to understand, Molly," he said. "Redbeard was my only friend. The boys at school were cruel to me. They made fun of my strange sounding name. They were also afraid of me. I could always tell when they were lying to me, or to the school masters. I was able to deduce things about them, their habits and their very nature."

He paused and took his wife's small hands, engulfing them in his larger ones. "Perhaps things would have been different, if it were not for the murder of one of the boys in my school. I used some clues I found and was able to determine who had killed him. In fact, it was two of my schoolmates who had done the deed, albeit accidentally. It had been a prank that went too far. After that, everyone shunned me. I think they were afraid I'd expose all their little secrets. I had no friends, not until a few years ago, when I met John Watson."

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," said Lady Molly with tears in her own eyes. "It is not surprising you have shut yourself off over these past years, locking your heart and your emotions away, so that nobody can hurt you again. I've noticed that you look sad when you think no-one can see you."

"You can see me."

She shook her head. "I don't count."

They talked of other, lighter things after that, and did not return to the deep conversation.

On Friday evening, Lord Sherlock's goodnight kiss had contained more passion, and it had lasted longer. He had stroked her face gently with his finger, and her hands had crept up to encircle his waist. Her lips had parted, opened for him, welcoming his embrace.

He stopped suddenly. "Molly, I...I,"

She held her breath. She felt he was about to say something momentous.

Then it was as if he thought better of it. "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight, my...dear."

He turned and walked to his room, this time with no backward glance at her.

Lady Molly was unaccountably disappointed as she entered the privacy of her own bedchamber.

Little tongues of fire flickered within her, heightening her senses, and stirring a desire within her to be closer to her husband, but he was gone, and she was alone once again. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back.

Tomorrow was a new day, and in the evening was the ball being hosted by her father.

That night the Marchioness tossed and turned. Her mind warred with her heart. Her mind told her to be sensible. There was no hurry for her to be with her husband. Her treacherous heart though longed to be with Lord Sherlock, to learn what it meant to be intimate with a man, to be intimate with HIM.

In the morning, when Molly came downstairs for breakfast, she knew she was not at her best. kayla had tried to use artificial means to hide the circles under her eyes, but it had only been partially successful. The Marchioness was tired, and she knew she looked that way. She was surprised to see that Lord Sherlock looked no better. There were lines at the side of his mouth and at the corners of his eyes which were slightly red-rimmed.

He merely said, after raising her hand to his lips as had become his custom, "Good morning, my dear. I hope you slept well."

"Not particularly," she replied honestly.

He stared at her for a few moments with an intense look in his eyes, until she dropped her gaze from his. Her hand was still in his, and her stomach lurched with awareness.

Lord Sherlock relinquished her hand and they ate their breakfast.

During the meal, the Marquis said to his wife, "I think we shall forego our usual visit to the workshop this afternoon. I expect you would like to rest before the ball, and it will probably take you longer than usual to get ready."

"That's true," she agreed. "I want to look my very best this evening, to look beautiful for y...for everybody."

He gave her a considering look, then nodded. "I'm afraid I have some errands to run this afternoon as well, so I shall not see you after luncheon, until it is time for us to depart for the ball. We have time for our usual talk this morning, however."

After breakfast the pair retired to the drawing room.

"Molly, yesterday I told you about my childhood and we talked very little about you. Today, I was hoping you would, if you feel comfortable enough, tell me about your former fiancé," he paused, his eyes darting from left to right as if in search of the name, "Tom?"

"Yes, his name was Tom. I...I'm afraid I was very foolish. I met him at a ball in London. He seemed very nice, and he paid me a lot of flowery compliments. I was very young, and I imagined myself to be in love with him. Little did I know, he was deeply in debt, and his affections were but a façade. He knew I had money."

She paused, as if thinking how to continue. "He asked for my hand in marriage and I consented. A week later, we were at another ball and he drank too much champagne. By the end of the evening he was completely intoxicated. He led me to an unused room on the pretext of telling me he had something of import to relate and...and he tried to kiss me. When I turned my head away, he called me a terrible name and said he was only marrying me for my money, and that I should be grateful for the attention."

At this point the tears that had been gathering in Lady Molly's eyes spilled over onto her cheeks. She pushed on with her story however, determined that her husband should know everything. "Then he gripped my arms and tried again to kiss me. He pulled at my bodice and pushed me against the sofa in the small drawing room. He..he ripped my bodice and put his hand on my breast, and he told me he was going to take...take me right then, to make sure no other man would have me."

Molly heaved a great sob and suddenly, Lord Sherlock's arms were around her, and he was holding her close. "You don't need to continue your story," he said in a deep voice.

"I...I need to," she stammered. "You have to understand. But please, Sherlock, keep holding me."

"I won't let go," the Marquis promised.

Lady Molly continued her story. "I managed to struggle free when he was distracted with...with trying to remove his knee breeches. I slapped his face as hard as I could, then ran away and found my mother in a retiring room close by. She saw the state of my gown and guessed what happened. She told me to wait while she fetched Papa, then we left the ball out of a side door so people wouldn't see how my bodice had been ruined."

She shuddered and related the last part of her tale. "It was not until the next day that we discovered Tom had gone back to the ball and told everyone he had caught me with another man. I never even had the chance to defend myself."

Lord Sherlock's arms tightened around her, and he kissed her hair. "He was a beast to you. Most men are not like that, I assure you."

Molly shifted slightly in his encircling arms, so she could look into his eyes. "I promised myself after that, that I would not let another man touch me, unless he loved me. In fact, you were the first man to kiss me. Tom had tried on several occasions, but I kept telling him it wouldn't be right when we were not even engaged. Then, after we were engaged, we were never alone together, until he took me to that room."

"I understand, Molly. I..." Lady Molly was not to know how the sentence would have ended, because the butler came in at that moment to announce luncheon was ready.

After luncheon, Lord Sherlock left Sherrinford Hall to run his errands, while the Marchioness went upstairs to have a rest.

Having unburdened her heart and the whole sordid details of what had transpired between Tom and herself, Molly was feeling decidedly better. Kayla helped her to undress and she got into bed to rest for several hours. Just before she slept, Molly thought of the differences between Lord Sherlock and Tom. As she drifted into sleep, the Marchioness thought she would need to make some decisions later, while she was getting ready for the ball.

LadyMolly slept for several hours and felt immeasurably better when she woke. It was almost five o'clock, and the ball was due to start at eight.

She pulled the bell rope and Kayla came in a short time later.

"Kayla, I want to look my absolute best tonight," she informed her lady's maid.

"Of course ,my lady. I shall arrange your hair in intricate ringlets. Which ballgown do you wish to wear?"

"I want to wear the gold one. It should go well with my eyes, and I want to look beautiful for my husband."

"I was sure you would choose that one," smiled the lady's maid. For some reason she looked very pleased with herself.

Kayla brought out the gown. The bodice had a low décolletage, and It had a very full skirt with many petticoats beneath. The outer skirt was dotted with tiny diamanté, that glittered with every movement.

It was almost seven-thirty before Lady Molly was ready. Kayla had dressed her hair very becomingly, and ringlets rioted all around her head. There was a little rouge on the Marchioness's cheeks, a slightly darker pink colour on her lips for the evening, courtesy of a little pot of lip salve. Even her eyelashes had been darkened with a little soot.

Lady Molly viewed herself in her looking glass and smiled at her reflection. She knew she had never looked better. Even her wedding dress could not compare to the opulence of this gown. The low décolletage afforded a view of creamy skin and accentuated the soft curves of her bosom. Diamanté sparkled also along the border of the off-the-shoulder garment. Gold coloured satin slippers completed the ensemble. The only thing that was missing, she thought, a little wistfully, was an elaborate necklace to break up the long line of skin from her neck to bosom. She did have a pair of gold earrings that dangled low from her ears, a gift from her father several years earlier.

While patiently sitting at her dressing table as Kayla spent more than an hour on her hair, Lady Molly had had plenty of time to think more about the differences between her former fiancé and her husband.

Tom had paid her extravagant compliments designed to flatter her. Lord Sherlock did not lie to her. If he said something complimentary, it had the ring of truth to it. Tom had kept secret the fact he wanted to marry her for her money, while there was no such deception in the Marquis's case. Tom's debt had been of his own making, while Lord Sherlock's had come as a result of his father's poor choices in investments. Tom had tried to force himself on her. Lord Sherlock, who had every right to expect her to obey his demands in the marriage bed, had shown enough respect for her to leave when she had asked. He had a valid reason to require an heir, in order to protect the Marquisate from a nefarious second cousin, yet he had not once tried to seduce her, in order to obtain his most important objective, to have a child.

The Marquis must be aware of her feelings for him, and how easily he could have overcome her resolve to remain chaste until such time as he said he loved her. In fact, why hadn't he pretended the emotion? Instead he had gone out of his way these past ten days to make her feel comfortable in his home, and to get to know her. He had even revealed why he had shut himself off from feeling love. The tears in his eyes as he told her of Redbeard's death had shown her clearly that he had emotions, but had learned to suppress them.

By the time Kayla was finished with her hair, the new Marchioness had made a decision. Tonight she would tell him she was ready for him to make love to her. She was certain he already cared for her. Her mother was right. She would love him enough for both of them and maybe, if God answered her prayer, he would learn to love her as well.

There was a new lightness in her heart, having made the decision.

When Lady Molly descended the stairs at seven-thirty, ii was to find her husband already in the front hall, waiting for her. He looked resplendent in his black tailcoat and trousers, starched white shirt and, surprisingly, a tie that matched her gown almost exactly. Her heart beat faster at the sight. His wonderful dark hair curled unfashionably over his forehead, instead of being pulled back and tamed. His hair was part of what made him so appealing to her. He was more than handsome, he was superb, a male Adonis.

For his part, the Marquis gave her a sweeping gaze from head to toe, and he said, in his rich baritone, "You look exquisite, Molly."

"Thank you," she said softly with eyes shining.

"I have something for you," he said, and held out a large square, black velvet box.

"Whatever is this for?" she asked in astonishment.

"A wedding gift. Please open it," he urged.

She took the proffered box and gently opened the lid. Inside was a gorgeous elaborate gold necklace with large yellow topaz gemstones surrounded by diamonds.

"Oh, Sherlock," she gasped. "How could you have known it was exactly what this gown needed?"

"I have my ways," he said with a mysterious smile.

"WiIl you...will you assist me to put it on?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied, "if you can lift your hair out of the way."

She did so, and the Marquis took the necklace from the box, then standing behind her, he clasped it around her neck. His breath tickled her neck, and Molly could have sworn she felt the touch of his lips on her skin, but if he did, it was the merest brush of those lips, and then he moved back so she could lower her hair.

He turned her to look at him, as she fingered the opulent jewels reverently.

"I cannot really take credit for these. The necklace belonged to my paternal grandmother, as did your engagement ring. It is part of the estate which is entailed, and therefore it could not be sold. I am rather glad of it now, for it looks as if it were made for you."

"I love it," she declared, then daringly stood on tiptoes to offer him a sweet kiss on his lips.

He looked surprised, yet pleased. Then Lord Sherlock offered Lady Molly his arm, and they went to the waiting carriage to depart for the ball.

 **Author's note:** Wasn't Sherlock a sad, lonely little boy?

So Molly has made a momentous decision. Agree or disagree?

Did you notice the two little canon snippets I inserted?

Sorry, this chapter is longer than usual!


	11. The Sign of Love

The past three days had gone by swiftly, and they had been quite eventful ones for the young Marquis.

Each day he had felt himself opening up more to his wife, and each night he had ventured to go just a little further when they said goodnight.

Lord Sherlock found Molly easy to talk to, and he found himself wanting to confide in her, to explain what had happened to make him the man he was. She had listened intently and sympathetically when he had explained about Redbeard, his beloved dog. He had talked about being an outcast among the other boys of his own age, and somehow he felt she understood. He had even seen tears in her eyes that echoed his.

She had commented about him looking sad when he thought no-one could see him, and that was the truth. He had led an isolated life for the most part, with no friend, save the doctor.

But Molly looked past the surface. She could see him, even though she thought she didn't count.

As they journeyed towards the Hooper mansion for the ball, Lord Sherlock had to tell her, "You're wrong, you know."

She looked at him questioningly and he explained, "You do count, and I've discovered over the past few days that I can trust you implicitly."

He lapsed into silence, reflecting further over the events of the previous day. Last night, when he had taken his wife to her room, he had kissed her again, and it was as if burning embers seared his heart and left it raw and exposed. He had felt a surge of emotion and was almost going to tell her that he thought he might be falling in love with her, but he had been a coward, and had left her instead. He had not looked at her, too afraid she might see the depth of emotion in his eyes.

He had passed a virtually sleepless night. The ice that had encased his heart for so many years had been melting over the past few days and the last of it had disappeared as he lay there, thinking of the woman who was sleeping so close by; the woman who he realized mattered the most, more than anyone else in his life.

He knew she was looking forward to the ball being held in their honour, and he wanted to give her something to express his gratitude for the way she had helped him open his heart.

Early in the morning, the Marquis had summoned Lady Molly's lady's maid.

When Kayla answered his summons, the Marquis had asked, "Do you by chance know which ballgown her ladyship is wearing this evening?"

Kayla had thought for a moment. "Her ladyship has not said so, but I know she wants to look her best. Her most elaborate gown is gold, with an off-the-shoulder bodice and very full skirt."

"Thank you Kayla," he had said, and dismissed her, after saying, "Please do not tell her ladyship I spoke to you." He was sure Molly would awaken soon and be needing her lady's maid. He needed to do something after lunch.

When the Marchioness had entered the breakfast room, he had immediately observed the signs of insomnia, through the makeup that had been skillfully applied to conceal it. When he had asked her how she slept, she had been honest with him. He couldn't help hoping the reason for her insomnia was him, just as she was the reason he had found it difficult to sleep.

After breakfast he had asked her about Tom, feeling he needed the final piece of the puzzle that was his wife. Molly had told Lord Sherlock the whole story of what had transpired between her ex-fiancé and herself. She had been so distraught that he had felt compelled to hold her.

Then, when she had told him of the man's unforgivable behaviour towards her, and the lies he had told, Lord Sherlock had found himself wishing he knew the man so he could challenge him to a duel and shoot him through the heart. He had wanted to tell her he would never show such a lack if respect for her, that she was important to him, but the butler had interrupted the moment to announce that luncheon was ready.

After luncheon Lord Sherlock had left for his errands.

First he had gone to see his mother. When a servant had ushered him into the parlour of the Dower house, his mother had looked at him questioningly.

"What are you doing here, Sherlock? Aren't you getting ready for the ball tonight? It should be a splendid affair."

"I have plenty of time to get ready, Mother. Men do not require as much time as women to get ready."

She had looked at him shrewdly. "You look tired. Did you not sleep well?"

"No, I didn't. I need you to help me, Mother."

"Of course, dear. What can I do for you?"

"I need a necklace for my wife. Do you have any jewels that belonged to Father's mother, that you could bear to part with? I know there must be some. Grandmama was very fond of her jewels."

"Of course I have them. Being entailed along with the estate, they really all belong to you, not me. You can have anything you wish for your wife."

"Thank you," answered the Marquis gravely.

The dowager Marchioness left the room and returned a short while later with an enormous jewellery box. "Take whatever you need."

Lord Sherlock sorted through the assortment of necklaces, earrings, bracelets and brooches. He gave an exclamation when he found exactly what he was looking for. He lifted out the gorgeous necklace with its yellow stones surrounded by diamonds in an ornate gold setting. "This is perfect," he said.

His mother looked at him curiously. "You are very anxious to please your wife. Does this mean that perhaps she has managed to capture your heart?"

"Oh Mother, I am not sure. I think I may be falling in love with her. But I am not familiar with sentiment of any kind. So I have no reference point."

The dowager Marchioness hugged her son. "There are a few signs to look for, Sherlock. Does she make your heart beat faster when she is around you? Do you think she makes you want to be a better man? Do you prefer being with her, than spending time apart? Do you look for ways to please her? And above all - is she more important to you than your experiments?"

The Marquis considered for a moment, then nodded. "Yes to all those things. Molly is a wonderful, unique woman of extraordinary intelligence and rare beauty, both inside and outside."

"Then it is quite obvious to me. You are in love, my son."

Lord Sherlock was still for a moment. Then he said, "May I take the necklace with me? Do you have somewhere I can put it?"

"There are velvet boxes for all the jewellery. I will find one."

Once again the elderly lady left the room, only to reappear a short time later with a large square, black velvet box. "This should work."

"Thank you Mother," said the Marquis as he gently laid the necklace inside the box. "I need to go and see John now."

"Very well, son. I will see you tonight."

Lord Sherlock kissed his mother's cheek and departed for the doctor's house.

Fortunately John was at home, having just returned from delivering the baby of a local villager. Young Rosamund was being cared for by a neighbour, because he had not known how long the woman would be in labour.

"Sherlock!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I need your advice, John," said the Marquis.

"Is it to do with you and your wife? You've fallen in love with her, haven't you? It's the only reason I can think of for you being here now."

"I believe so," admitted Lord Sherlock. "How did you know you loved Mary? What were the signs that indicated you were in love?"

"I was attracted to her physically. I know you have a physical attraction for your wife, you told me that the day after your wedding. I assume you still feel that way?"

"Indeed I do, and each day that passes, these...feelings...emotions are getting stronger."

"Well, that's a pretty good indicator. I heard you even went to church on Sunday, before you came to see me. Why did you do that?"

"She asked me to, and I wanted to please her."

"Have you told her about your past, and has she told you about hers?"

"Yes, yes, of course. She's my wife. I want her to know everything about me, and I want to know about her. Hurry up and tell me if what I am feeling is love. I need to get back to my wife," he said impatiently.

"Oh, Sherlock," said the doctor, and there was a hint of laughter in his voice, "are you listening to yourself right now? You want to know everything about your wife and confide in her. Plus you are desperate to return to her. A person would have to be a complete moron to not see that the signs are clearly there for a man in love."

"Enough about signs," exploded the Marquis. "Do I love her or not?"

"Of course you do, you fool. If you need me to spell it out for you, here it is. You, Lord Sherlock Holmes, Marquis of Sherrinford are in love with your wife, Lady Molly Holmes, Marchioness of Sherrinford. Clear enough enough for you?"

The Marquis gave a sigh of relief. It was if a very heavy weight had been suddenly lifted from him. "Yes John, very clear. But what do I do now? How can I make her believe me, that I am not just saying what she wants to hear?"

"If you are worried about saying the words, show her instead."

A light shone in the Marquis's eyes. "Thank you John. I believe I shall."

Then his expression became a sober one. "There's something else I need you to do for me."

"What's that?"

"It's in regards to my second cousin. He has a spy in my household."

"How would you know that?"

"Never mind that now. This is extremely important. My future, and that of my wife, could depend on it."

"I'll do whatever I can," responded the good doctor.

"Thank you. Tell Inspector Lestrade I believe my cousin may attempt scenario six."

"What the hell?"

"Please John, Lestrade will know what I am talking about. I cannot go to him myself, in case Moriarty suspects I know what he is planning. You should be able to catch Lestrade right now at the Hog's Head Inn. He likes to stop there after work each day for a pint or two of ale. Please 'casually' mention it to him without anyone else hearing. It must be done immediately, do you understand?"

"I understand. I'll head to the inn right after you leave."

"Thank you John. I am counting on you."

He returned to the Hall and his valet dressed him in his finest clothes, including a tie of gold so he would match his wife.

Lord Sherlock's thoughts were brought back to the present by his wife's words. "Why do you think I count? Two weeks ago, you hated me. You didn't even want to know me, but now you say you trust me."

"Molly," he said earnestly, "I like spending time with you. We have done so much together these past few days, learned a lot about each other. Do you not agree?"

"I do, Sherlock, and there is something I must tell you. I...I have changed my mind."

"Changed your mind?" he questioned uncomprehendingly. "Are you saying yo do not wish us to spend time together, learning about each other?"

"No, that's not it," she barely whispered, and he had to lean in close to hear her next words. "I want to spend more time with you, in every way."

"What are you saying to me?" He wasn't sure if she meant what he thought she meant. He hadn't told her yet that he loved her.

"I don't want to make you wait anymore. You don't have to love me, as long as you care for me a little. I...I want to have a baby with you."

"If you want to do this Molly, I need to know - do you love me? Can you say the words 'I love you?'"

She looked stricken. "I...I can't say those words to you."

"Why can't you?"

"You know why," she said, not looking at him.

He put his hands under her chin and tilted her face towards him. "No, I don't know why," he said anxiously.

A single tear slipped down her cheek. "Of course you do."

"Please Molly, just say it," he urged her desperately.

"I can't...I can't say that...not to you."

"Why?" he asked. She was breaking his heart. Did she just want a baby with him, because she wanted one for herself, and he was her only means of obtaining her dearest desire? Had he completely misread her?

Another tear slipped down her cheek, leaving a black smudge as the soot which had darkened her lashes dissolved. Then she whispered brokenly, "Because it's true, Sherlock. It's always been...true."

He barely heard the last word but he felt his heart leap in response. "If it's true, just say it anyway."

She looked directly into his eyes, pleading with him to pretend. "You say it."

"What?" he asked, not understanding.

"You say it first. Say it like you mean it." Another plea.

He swallowed. He hadn't said the words to her, to anyone in fact.

He looked down. "I..." and up again, and forced himself to say the words his heart had been urging him to publicly acknowledge, "I love you."

Then he stared into her eyes, trying to convey the truth of it, "I love you."

She said nothing for a moment, just gazed at him dumbly.

"Molly?" Then when she still remained silent, desperately, "Molly, please!"

The words left her lips on a long sigh. "I love you."

He stared at her, his lips drawing nearer and she leaned in towards him.

Their lips were but an inch apart when suddenly there was the sound of gunshots, and the door to the carriage was unceremoniously flung open.

"Get out of the carriage, now!" a rough voice ordered.

Molly screamed in terror as the Marquis felt himself being hit on the back of the head as he was dragged out of the carriage with his wife. He felt himself sinking into oblivion, but just before it claimed him, Lord Sherlock heard the words of his nemesis, "Hello, cousin. Did you miss me?"

.../.../.../.../.../.../.../

In his bed at 221B Baker Street, tears slid down Sherlock Holmes's face as he whispered in his sleep., "I'm so sorry Molly, I took too long to tell you, and now he's going to kill us both."

A pair of soft hands came around his neck. "Sherlock? Sweetheart, wake up, it's just a dream. I'm here."

Sherlock opened his eyes and stared into the beloved face of his sweet wife, before he crushed her to him and began kissing her passionately.

 **Author's note:** I know, I know, you're probably hating me right now. When I started the chapter, the intent was to have them go to the ball, have Molly and Sherlock confess their love and voila, happy ending. But the threat of Moriarty would still have been an unspoken one. So this is the way my writing took me.

I hope you enjoyed the canon moments. I couldn't resist. I love inserting canon to tie it in with the show. That's what makes it a Sherlock story after all, rather than just a regular romance.

Hope you also enjoyed Sherlock's discussion with John, and how he needed John to tell him he was in love.

I have to change the rating to M, as the next chapter takes place in the "real" world. And the "real" Sherlock is very glad his Molly is safe. Just to reassure my readers, I do NOT write explicit love scenes. A lot of writers would not consider my stuff to be M, but I prefer to err on the side of caution.

Thanks for reading, reviews always appreciated because I am feeling a bit discouraged at present. I attempt to correct typos, and I proof-read at least 4 times, but inevitably some slip through because I am legally blind, and have to work much harder to view my work than most people. I'm trying a text to speech editor now, so hopefully the chapter is better.


	12. Only a Dream

**_INTERLUDE_**

Molly rubbed the back of her neck as she entered the flat. She was extremely weary after her nightshift.

She had not heard again from Sherlock, after she had suggested he read a book to try and sleep. That sort of thing worked for her.

"Sherlock?" she called softly. It was eight-thirty and her husband was usually already awake. Then again, his last text had been at around twelve-thirty, and he was about to get a book to read to help him sleep. If he had read the whole thing, he might have been up for a couple hours after that.

She tiptoed into the bedroom. Sure enough, her husband was in bed. He was obviously having a restless sleep because the sheet and duvet were completely off the bed and nothing was covering his naked form.

Her heart gave a huge leap at the sight.

They had been married less than a month and it was still extraordinary to view his body completely unclothed. They had waited months to be together, until their wedding night in fact. One of the things they had discussed while they were sharing a bed when they were engaged, but not being intimate, was that they wanted to maintain skin to skin contact when they were in bed after they were married. The only exception was when Molly wore lingerie, which did not stay on long anyway.

The pathologist picked up the duvet and sheet from the floor, settling them back over her husband. She usually stayed awake when she came home from nightshift, trying to sleep in the afternoon for a few hours. This time, it was too tempting to not join her husband in bed. She undressed and slid into the bed, sliding over so that their naked bodies were touching.

To Molly's surprise, she saw a tear leaking from her husband's eye, and she was startled when he spoke, eyes still closed,

"I'm so sorry Molly, I took too long to tell you. and now he's going to kill us both."

What on earth could Sherlock be dreaming about? Molly slid her hands around his neck and whispered, "Sherlock? Sweetheart, wake up, it's just a dream. I'm here."

Sherlock's eyes opened. He looked at Molly as if he could not believe she was real, and then he crushed her to his long, lean body and began kissing her passionately. Molly did not know what had brought on his sudden ardour but she was not about to complain.

His hands travelled the length of her body, feeling her hips, her breasts, her back, as if he was trying to convince himself she was real and not a dream.

She tangled her hands in his hair and returned his urgent kisses in full measure. He said nothing, and Molly had the feeling her husband was still only half awake.

Then his hands travelled once again over her torso, caressing her breasts, followed by his mouth, trailing kisses from one to the other. She arched her back in invitation, whimpering at his ministrations. He was magnificent, she thought dazedly. Even in his semi-aware state he knew exactly what to do to fan the embers of passion that always lay between them into a raging fire that consumed them both.

Then his mouth returned once again to hers, his kisses becoming more urgent, more forceful as their need to be even closer grew. "I need you Molly, my love. God, how I adore you," he whispered against her lips.

"I'm yours, Sherlock, always," she gasped out. "Make love to me. I need you too."

Passion overwhelmed the newlyweds and they made love, glorying in the uniting of their bodies.

Afterwards, the new Mrs. Holmes tucked herself into her husband's warmth. They usually spooned, and this was no exception. With Molly being quite petite, Sherlock's body encased her like a cocoon. His right arm was above her head, and his left had cupped her right breast in a possessive lover's embrace.

Their love-making had been so fiery that Molly wondered what kind of dream her husband could have been having, that would cause him to be so desperate for her. It was as if it was their first time, all over again, but better, because he was more confident of himself and how to please her. Once her husband learned something she liked, he did not forget it, but constantly thought of ways to enhance her experiences.

Sherlock Holmes really was magnificent in every way, as a husband and as a lover. She had dreamed of him for so many years, of what it would be like to be actually held by him, and the reality was so much better than the images she had built up in her mind.

Sherlock fell back into a deep sleep immediately, and soon Molly joined him in slumber. She slept soundly, but Sherlock's dream, as if it had been on a temporary pause due to his interlude outside of it, continued from the point at which it had left off, switching to the perspective of the young Marchioness.

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed the opportunity to see the "real" Sherlock and Molly. A bit of extra romance never hurts, right? All of my different stories use "this" Sherlock and Molly, just in case you like my character interpretation enough to want to read more about them.

It seems that an intense dream cam provoke an intense reaction ;)


	13. Love is Dangerous

Lady Molly opened her eyes. She was in what appeared to be a small bedroom. Her hands were bound in front of her with thick rope. She heard a faint sound beside her and turned to look. Lord Sherlock lay next to her. His shallow breathing had been the sound she had heard.

Her husband was still unconscious, evidently from the blow to the back of his head, and she gasped in horror when she saw the congealed blood that stained and matted his beautiful ebony curls. His back was towards her, which was why she could see the wound on his head, and he was also restrained by a rope.

There was nobody else in the room with them. The Marchioness sat up and wiggled closer to her husband, not an easy feat with the voluminous petticoats of her gown, in order to look at his wound.

Fortunately it had stopped bleeding. She knew from her studies in America, that head wounds often bled profusely and seemed worse than they actually were.

She wondered how long they had been there in the room. There was a window with heavy bars across it through which no light filtered. Evidently it had been some time then if it was dark.

The ball would have started by now, and people would be worried that the guests of honour had not appeared. She supposed some people might assume they were just running late, but if more than an hour had passed, there would certainly be talk.

Molly had screamed, then fainted when she had seen her husband struck on the back of his head, but her mouth felt woolly and she detected a faint sweet smell around her mouth. Molly was familiar with chloroform, which had been patented only a few years earlier, and was used as an anaesthetic. She felt almost certain it had been used on her to keep her unconscious long past the time she would have recovered from her faint.

With nothing else to do, Lady Molly thought about what had happened since she and Lord Sherlock had set off for the ball.

She had been very nervous at the prospect of telling him her decision. Her husband had been quiet too, speaking at first only to assure her that she did, in fact, count.

He had lapsed back into silence. Finally when that silence had become intolerrable, she had ventured to speak. When she had told him she was ready to have a baby with him, the Marquis had surprised and distressed her.

As if it wasn't humiliating enough to confess she did after all want a baby with him, he had wanted her to admit that she loved him. By keeping the words unspoken, she could pretend her reason for wanting a baby was just a biological need. To say she loved him would bare her soul to him. It would tell him once and for all that she was too weak to resist his charms, that he had power over her.

He had pressed his suit, however, until she had made the admission that it was true. That was when she had pleaded with him to say the words himself first, to at least pretend he loved her, so that she would have something to hold onto when her heart ached for him.

And he had done it. At first she was uncertain of his true feelings, as the Marquis hesitated over the words. But then he had said it again, and looked at her, truly looked into her eyes with an intensity she had never believed possible. And she had believed him.

She had been so stunned over this turn if events that it had taken her a few moments to hear what he was saying.

Then Molly remembered - she hadn't yet told Lord Sherlock she loved him too. The words cane out on a slow release of breath, as she felt an indescribable happiness fill her heart.

He had leaned in to kiss her, as if they were making a vow to one another.

And then of course, all hell had broken loose.

Molly looked over at her husband. He was still unconscious and she was feeling more afraid for him with every minute that passed. She didn't fear for herself. She was nothing. If something happened to her, it was of no consequence. Lord Sherlock could marry again, find someone who would bear his children. She was sure there would be many candidates.

She wiggled her way to the edge of the bed, inwardly cursing at those petticoats which impeded her progress. It was amazing how much more difficult things became when your wrists were bound. She managed to slide her legs to the floor and walked to the other side of the bed so she could see Lord Sherlock's face.

The Marchioness got on her knees beside the bed. Her husband looked so pale, but still incredibly handsome despite his skin's pallor. His curls tumbled over his forehead. Reaching out her bound hands she touched his face. "Sherlock?" She needed to see if he would return to consciousness. "Sherlock, can you hear me?"

Still no response. Lady Molly leaned forward and gently touched her lips to his. His eyes opened as fathomless bue-green eyes looked into her chocolate coloured ones.

"Molly," he breathed her name, then groand. "My head."

He made a motion as if to rise and Molly said, "Don't, Sherlock. You were hit from behind, and you've been bleeding. If you move too fast you might reopen the wound."

He did as he was told and shut his eyes briefly, obviously from the pain. He opened them again and moved his bound hands towards her face, where she was still hovering close to his, balancing on her knees.

"Molly," he said urgently, "you believed me didn't you?"

The Marchioness took his bound hands into hers as best she could. "Yes, I believed you. I saw it in your eyes. But we don't have time to discuss that right now. We need to figure out what we are going to do."

"Lestrade," her husband said weakly.

"You mean the police inspector? What about him?"

"If John got the message to him, he will find..." His voice lapsed into silence and Molly saw that his eyes were closed again. He had most likely passed out from the pain in his head.

 ** _Well,_** she decided. **_I'm not going to just sit here and wait. I'm going to take a look around._**

Lady Molly used her bound hands to support herself in rising from her knees back to a standing position. She walked around the room, examining it. There was a fireplace which looked as if it had not been used in many years. The bed on which she had been lying had nothing on it save an old woollen blanket. The room was devoid of any other furniture, except for a small night stand. The only light in the room was courtesy of a small candle that had been placed on the table.

The Marchioness walked over to the barred window and peered outside. The window was so filthy it was impossible to make out much, especially with it being dark. However, there was a moon that accorded enough light for her to perceive they were not on the ground floor. There was also a large tree she was vaguely able to make out a short distance from the window. It was very tall, with sturdy branches.

The bedroom was also quite dusty, as if it had not been occupied in some time. Lady Molly also tried the door handle. Not surprisingly, it was locked. She put her ear to the door and could hear nothing. Apparently their captor, or captors were not currently nearby.

Having done all she could to find out about their location, the Marchioness returned to kneel at her husband's side.

She reached for the rope on his wrists, attempting to untie it, but the intricate knots were too secure.

Lord Sherlock opened his eyes again as she tried futilely to work at them.

"Molly?" he murmured. "Oh God, my head hurts like hell."

"I'm so sorry, darling." The endearment slipped out, and she blushed when she realized what she had said.

But the Marquis grasped her fingers with his own, tied together as they were. "Am I really your darling?" he asked, with a hopeful note in his voice.

Her gaze was soft as she looked at the man she adored. "Of course you are, Sherlock."

"Kiss me then," he ordered.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she murmured, although she wanted nothing more. "You have a head wound, and any sudden movement..."

"Will you kiss me if I stay still?"

'I...I don't know..."

"Please Molly, it will help take my mind off this pain in my head."

Who was she to argue with that logic?

The Marquis did shift slightly, just to slide closer to the edge of the bed.

Nervously, the Marchioness leaned toward him and set her lips to his. Immediately she felt that same tingle as on the other occasions they had kissed, and a sigh escaped her lips as her mouth was pressed to his.

She was too shy to prolong the kiss however, and inched back slightly so their gazes were locked.

"God, Molly," he groaned. "You are so sweet. If these damned ropes weren't in the way I'd hold you and kiss you the way I desperately want to."

"I want that too, but we need to figure out how to escape. Earlier you said something about Inspector Lestrade. Are you up to talking about it?"

Lord Sherlock tried to nod, then winced. "I've been expecting some sort of attack from my cousin for some time. I've been trying to draw him out into the open. Shortly before our wedding, I made it known that I was in need of a new stablehand. As I expected, he took the bait and placed one of his own men in the position to spy for him."

Molly stared at him in astonishment. "You've been expecting him to do something?"

"Of course. The man wants my title. My marriage to you poses a threat to that. In any case, I have been feeding this stablehand, Moran, information through my coachman. I made certain there was no way Moriarty could get to you before our wedding. We may not have met, but I knew I had to protect you at all costs."

"You were looking after me before we met?"

"Do not misunderstand me, darling," he caressed the word and Molly's heart fluttered in response. "I was not doing it for you at the time, I regret to say. I was merely trying to protect my future." He closed his eyes, as if the admission hurt him to say aloud.

His fingers found hers again and he clasped them tightly. "Your father knew as well. Inspector Lestrade and his men have been watching and waiting for something to happen. I explained thirteen possible scenarios to Lestrade, things that Moriarty might attempt."

"Were you expecting something to happen tonight?" questioned the Marchioness.

"Yes. I deduced that there was a strong probability that Moriarty would use the opportunity to kidnap me, us, on the way to the ball."

Lord Sherlock winced again, and his wife said anxiously. "Please, don't talk right now, if it hurts your head."

"I will be fine. I need to explain, but first, have you looked around here? Have you perchance taken a look outside the window?

"Yes. I was trying to look for anything that might help us, or you, really, figure out where we are."

"Tell me what you've observed."

So Lady Molly explained about the sparsely furnished bedroom, the dust, the locked door and their height from the ground. "There's also a large tree, a little way to the right of the window, not far from the house."

"That is good news," said her husband. I believe my deductions were correct, then. If so, it will only be a natter of time before Lestrade and his men find us. I'm a little disappointed they haven't found us already...unless" he stopped suddenly and Molly saw fear spread over his face.

"Unless what, Sherlock?" she asked, now fearful herself.

"Unless John was unable to find Lestrade."

Lady Molly gasped.

"All is not lost, my little love," he soothed. "Perhaps the message was late in coming, so Lestrade was not able to prevent our kidnapping. If he got it though, he will know our current location, if indeed my deductions were correct."

"Where do you think we are?"

"There is an old, abandoned cottage at the edge of my estate. I actually had my coachman feed this information to the spy, Moran. If Moriarty took the bait, he will have brought us here while he plans his next move. He could not have just murdered us out of hand immediately. There would have been too many questions asked, and his role in it would have been exposed. No, I think he is currently trying to decide what to do next."

The Marchioness shuddered.

"I should never have exposed you to this danger," the Marquis berated himself.

"Sherlock, I have to believe that God is watching over us. He will make sure we get out of this. In any case, isn't love always dangerous? To love someone means to expose yourself to hurt, but it also affords you the opportunity of knowing something so precious, so wonderful that you would be willing to die for it."

"My sweet, if it comes to that, I will protect you with my last breath."

Lady Molly shook her head. "No, you must not. I am of no importance. It is you who must be protected at all costs."

Neither of them had heard the door being unlocked and a menacing figure stepping inside the room, they had been so intent on expressing their feelings to one another.

"Such pretty words," sneered Janes Moriarty. "Could it be that my dear cousin has actually fallen in love with his wife? This is going to be more fun than I thought."

And he chuckled, an evil sound that made Molly's blood run cold.

 **Author's note:** I hope you enjoyed the interaction here between the couple as they progress to acknowledging their mutual love properly.

What is Moriarty's plan for them? Make your deductions here and see if you are right!


	14. Revenge is Sweet

Lord Sherlock looked over at his nefarious second cousin, trying to conceal his fear. He had been in dangerous situations before, when helping Lestrade to solve crimes. Having locked away his emotions for years in favour of pure logic and his own intellect, he had not really feared for his life.

When his brother had been heir to the title, he had known that his death, although it would be hard on his parents, would not be something that affected many people. Of course John would miss him, perhaps his sister, in her limited sense of reality, perhaps even Mycroft. It had not been enough to make him really consider whether he should consider his life a gift.

He still didn't fear for himself, but he did fear for his wife. He knew that her loss would be intolerable to him. If he lost his Molly, just when he had realized he was in love with her, he would once again become a shell of a man. The Marquis knew he would rather die than allow her to die. She had a future now. As his widow, she would retain her status as a Marchioness until such time as she married again.

Married again - the thought felt like a punch to his stomach. Ideally, he wanted the best outcome for them, that they should live. He wanted to live, for her, to have that chance at happiness that so few people found. He had to hope, and pray that Lestrade would come in time to save them. In his condition, Lord Sherlock knew he would not be capable of saving his wife and himself. His only option was to play for time, to keep Moriarty talking.

"Well, dear cousin," said the Marquis, adopting a cool tone, "you have shown your hand at last."

"I'm sure you knew it would happen sooner or later, Marquis." The criminal hissed the last word in a derogatory manner. "My original plan was to cause a convenient 'accident' to happen to you, perhaps when you were out riding. I thought to place a burr underneath your favourite horse's saddle, so that when you rode him, the pain would cause the animal to throw you off and hopefully kill you. Oh, I had so many lovely plans. But then you had to go and get MARRIED, damn you."

The nefarious man continued. "I had not expected you to be in a situation where an immediate marriage became a necessity. Nor had I expected you to find a suitable candidate so quickly." He glanced over at Lady Molly, who instinctively moved closer to her husband.

Lord Sherlock moved his bound hands so he could grasp her fingers comfortingly. Her hands were cold, and she was trembling. He wanted to give her words of reassurance, but he knew Moriarty would take great pleasure in aggravating the situation to increase her fear. Therefore he said nothing to her, hoping his touch would bae comfort enough.

"Sorry to make things so difficult for you," he said dryly, ignoring the pounding inhis head, which was beginning to increase again, due to the wound at the back of it.

"I deduce you were the one who placed Irene Adler in my brother's path, knowing he would be disinherited as a result?"

"Yes, she played her part perfectly, acting the damsel in distress, feigning such sweet innocence. Your brother is a fool. I knew killing him would be difficult. He does not ride, he is paranoid about everything and has, well had, his own spies around him who were always watching over him. The one thing he had not counted on, was falling in love with an unsuitable woman. Such an easy solution in the end."

Again, the Marquis spoke, buying time for himself and the Marchioness. "I have not seen or heard anything from my brother since the day he ran away with the trollop. I don't suppose you know what happened to him?"

"Pah," Moriarty spat. "As it happens I do know. He and the 'trollop' as you call her are living quite happily in a small cottage in Dover. It seems my little pawn decided she wanted to cut ties with me, and stayed with your brother. I believe she is even now with child by him."

Lord Sherlock felt an unaccountable sense of gladness spread through him. He was sincerely glad his brother had found happiness at the expense of his title. In fact, Lord Sherlock suddenly realized he would gladly relinquish the title and live in obscurity if it would mean he could build a life with his new wife.

"Moriarty," he said, "what would you think if I abdicated my title and you became the next Marquis?"

He heard Lady Molly's gasp of surprise and felt her fingers tighten convulsively in his.

"A very tempting offer, cousin, but you know that would not work."

Lord Sherlock's heart sank. He had been hoping his cousin would not realize the flaw in his suggestion.

"You know very well that if you abdicated the title, your wife's title would also be invalidated. Thus the terms of your marriage settlement would become null and void. All the money provided by your father-in-law would revert to him."

"By that, I assume you have been made privy to the terms of our marriage settlement," said the Marquis, feeling a hint of fear once again. And now there was more than fear, there was dread, for he knew what was coming.

"My man Moran is quite the skilled safe cracker. He examined those documents the night you signed them and put them in your safe."

Lord Sherlock cursed himself for not sending the papers the sane day to his Estate attorney in London.

"Then you also know that if you kill me while my wife remains childless, our settlement also becomes invalid."

His wife stared at him in astonishment. She obviously had not realized the lengths to which her father had gone to, in order to protect her. If he were to die, she would retain her title, as well as her money, but the new Marquis would not have the benefit of it.

"Yes, that is a bit of a problem I had not anticipated. I also had not anticipated that your father would lose all his wealth just before I had my man inject him with the poison ."

"Oh, my God," breathed Lady Molly, speaking for the first time since Moriarty had entered the room,"you had him injected with potassium chloride!"

"Well, well," the criminal said, even as Lord Sherlock looked at his wife in open-mouthed astonishment, "your wife has both beauty and brains. What a clever woman you are."

The Marquis was still trying to process this information. His wife was even more intelligent than he could have imagined, and his enemy...

"You killed my father," he whispered, shocked. He knew Moriarty was evil, but he had never even considered that his father's death had not been an accident.

"Indeed. A clever plan, was it not?" boasted the criminal. "I simply had one of my men watching to find a time when your father was alone, and administer a syringe of the potassium chloride, and voila, instant heart attack and death!"

"And no evidence unless someone was looking for the mark of a syringe," said Lady Molly.

"Yes," agreed Lord Sherlock. "A perfect murder weapon to simulate a heart attack, due to the elevated potassium levels that are released in the blood when the heart muscle is damaged. I should have expected such a thing."

Lord Sherlock's heart sank further. The fact that his cousin had revealed this information meant there was no way he planned to release them. Of course, he reflected, he knew that already.

"So, cousin, how do you propose to get rid of me, knowing as you do, that my money is only on loan, as it were, from Mr. Hooper?"

"I'll admit, it did take me a little while to figure out what to do, but at last I have come up with the perfect solution!"

Lord Sherlock felt another stab of pain in his head. He gritted his teeth and asked tersely, "What is your plan?"

"Oh it is very simple really. I shall take your lady wife to bed until she is with child. Under the provisions of the settlement, her father's money becomes permanently part of the estate once she is with child. I believe the exact terms state that once she is confirmed to be with child, the settlement can no longer be voided."

Molly gasped and clutched at her husband's hands even more tightly as tears began slipping down her face.

Lord Sherlock could feel her fingers trembling even more, and how icy cold they had become. He was proud of her fortitude in not collapsing into hysterics as most women would have.

"And if I refuse to be subjected to your advances?" she whispered.

"Oh, child, you will not be able to prevent me from taking what I want. I will tie you to the bed if need be, and I shall have my heir. Or I can have one of my men hold you down while I take my pleasure from your sweet body. I'll let you even choose what you prefer." He leered at the Marchioness. "I will keep your husband alive until I am certain of it, spread the word that you have taken your honeymoon. Even now, my man is explaining your absence from the ball, saying you decided to leave for a belated honeymoon." He rubbed his hands in glee.

Lord Sherlock's mind was whirling. Moriarty's plan was so clever. He had thought of everything. Even if Lestrade suspected something had happened, he would not be able to prove it. The household would believe the couple had left for a honeymoon, because they knew he and the Marchioness had been getting to know each other.

"How will you prevent me from telling everyone the truth?" asked Lady Molly. Lord Sherlock knew she was trying to be brave, and he admired her for it. He could feel dizziness beginning to overwhelm him and struggled to stay conscious, for her.

"While you are on your 'honeymoon,' you will contract a disease which requires you to remain in isolation. If your father insists on seeing for himself that you are pregnant, I shall simply have you injected with a drug that induces temporary amnesia, that will enable your father too see the proof that you are with child. If the drug happens to kill your unborn progeny, it is of no consequence to me."

He gave another evil laugh that chilled Lord Sherlock to the core, then continued. "I would prefer to keep you around for awhile, just to make sure your dear papa is satisfied, but I will kill you if need be. Your husband here though," he motioned the Marquis with his head, will sadly die of the disease before the child is born, and I shall become the Marquis. Either way, I win. If the child survives long enough to be born and is a girl, there is no challenge to my inheritance. If it is a boy, he shall unfortunately die soon after birth."

 ** _He is a monster_** , thought the Marquis. **_He would even kill his own child without a second thought._**

"You are a monster," said Lady Molly bitterly, echoing Lord Sherlock's thoughts.

"Perhaps so, but a clever one, nonetheless." He stopped talking for a moment, and the Marquis could see a new thought occur to him. "Now I think about it, I really have no need to keep your husband alive, so why prolong his miserable existence further?"

James Moriarty pulled a gun out of his pocket. "I think I will just kill your husband right now. It will be such a tragedy - so many days not lived, so many words unsaid." As he spoke he levelled the gun at the Marquis.

"No!" shrieked Lady Molly and she threw herself in front of her husband.

The report of a gunshot echoed in the room as Lord Sherlock's pain finally overwhelmed him and he fell back into blessed oblivion.

.../.../.../.../.../.../

In his bed in Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes shuddered convulsively and groaned. "Not you too, Molly. Oh God, not you too." His arms tightened instinctively around his sleeping wife as tears trickled once again down his cheeks.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Can you imagine a more wicked man than Moriarty? To not care about killing his own child?

I read up on sodium chloride. It is used to treat low potassium levels, and can be fatal if the dose is high enough, prompting what seems like a heart attack.

Did you catch the "tragedy" canon?

Good enough cliffhanger for you?


	15. Safe at Last

When Lady Molly threw herself in front of her husband in an attempt to shield him, she closed her eyes and waited for death to claim her.

She heard the report of the gun, and waited to feel it rip through her flesh. When nothing happened after a few moments, she opened her eyes.

The first thing she registered was Lord Sherlock collapsing backwards on the bed.

"Sherlock!" she screamed as tears blurred her vision and she reached her hands towards him. Seeing no movement, she got blindly to her feet, intending to do something, anything to the monster who had killed the man she loved.

Then she stumbled over something and looked down, trying to clear her vision. It took a few moments for comprehension to sink in. It was Moriarty, and there was a stain spreading across his chest.

"Lady Molly," a voice said, and she lifted her eyes to look at the newcomer. "Are you alright? Is Lord Sherlock alright?"

The Marchioness recognized Inspector Lestrade. Instead of answering, she asked a question of her own. Gesturing at the man who lay at her feet, she asked in a voice that shook slightly, "Is he...is he dead?"

"I certainly hope so. I put a bullet straight through his heart," remarked the inspector.

Four other men entered the room at that moment.

"The cottage is secure sir," announced one of the men. "We found two men ourtside and secured them in the carriage house. Nobody else is here."

Lestrade nodded, then turned back to Lady Molly. "Did something happen to the Marquis? He was still sitting straight when I entered the room."

The Marchioness turned to look at her husband. He must have fainted due to his head wound, she realized. Her heart filled with joy as she processed this information. Lord Sherlock was not dead, merely unconscious. "He received a strong blow to the back of his head when we were kidnapped and lost quite a lot of blood. He has been in and out of consciousness and needs a doctor immediately."

"We have two carriages outside with coachmen on the box. Two of my men can carry him downstairs and take him to Dr. Watson." He snapped his fingers and two if the men stepped forward.

"Carry Lord Sherlock downstairs and get him to Dr. Watson immediately. And be careful," he added, "he has a head wound. Find a knife so we can cut these ropes from the Marquis and Marchioness as well."

"Right away sir," responded another man, who went downstairs in search of a knife.

The two burly men went to where Lord Sherlock lay and picked him up, one at his feet, the other at his shoulders.

"Please be careful,"pleaded the Marchioness tearfully.

"Of course we will, your ladyship," promised one of the men, as they made their way downstairs with the unconscious Marquis between them.

Once they had left the room, Lady Molly felt her legs beginning to give way, they were trembling so much. Seeing her distress, Inspector Lestrade assisted her to sit on the bed once again.

"It's alright now, my lady," he said kindly. "You are safe and Moriarty will never hurt anyone again. I saw how brave you were, that you were willing to die for your husband."

"I would do anything for him," whispered Lady Molly. "I love him."

"Lord Sherlock is a very lucky man to have met and married someone like you," he said.

"Do you think, will my husband be alright?" she asked, with fists clenched convulsively.

"I'm sure he will be," assured the inspector. "Lord Sherlock is a strong man, and he has had several brushes with death before. Obviously none were fatal," he quipped, in an attempt to elicit a smile from the Marchioness, which was successful.

"It's really and truly over?" she asked. "What about the man who was spying on us from within the household?"

"Moran was arrested soon after he got to the ball to spread his lies about you. He confessed everything. Amazing what a little friendly 'persuasion' can do. He's a coward that one, would do anything to save his own skin."

"How did you find us?" questioned Lady Molly.

"Lord Sherlock had already given that cryptic message to his friend John for me, but it was Moran who confirmed it."

"Lord Sherlock was worried you may not have gotten his message."

"Luckily for him, Dr. Watson is a persistent man. I usually have a drink at the local inn after I'm finished for the day, but this time I was running late, investigating another crime scene. Could have used your husband's help, but I did get there in the end. Anyway, John Watson tracked me down and gave me the message."

Molly was listening intently to the explanation, which was cut short as the man searching for the knife returned, triumphantly holding one up. "Found this big butcher's knife in a drawer. Sorry it took awhile, I wanted to use it on his lordship's bindings first, before the others set off for the village."

"Well, have a care with Lady Molly. You don't want to cut her."

"Did his lordship's bindings without making a scratch," boasted the man. "Only needed to cut through two of the ropes. That loosened them enough so they came off easily."

With trembling hands, the Marchioness held them out and closed her eyes.

Next thing she knew, her hands were free. She chafed her wrists, trying to restore the circulation that she had not realized until now was being hindered by the tightness of the ropes. Her wrists were red with rope burns, and she winced, feeling pain for the first time.

Lestrade contemplated for a moment, then said, "I think we'll take you straight to Dr. Watson too. He can treat your wrists and make sure you don't go into shock."

"Please do," she agreed. "I need to be with my husband."

The inspector assisted her downstairs and into the carriage., barking an order at the one man who had just been silently awaiting orders. "Watch the body. I'll have some more men brought over directly to take it away, and to retrieve the other two men."

"Yes sir," said the lackey.

Lestrade helped the Marchioness into the renaining carriage, then entered himself. The man who had cut Molly's bindings remained behind to also keep watch.

Once they had set off the Marchioness asked, "Would you continue your story please? What happened after you got the message Sherlock had given the doctor?"

"Your husband is a brilliant man," Inspector Lestrade told her. "He had determined a number of scenarios that he deduced Moriarty might try to get at him, some including you, some not. He made me memorize each so that only I would know the one if it was told to me. One of the Marquis's scenarios included you being kidnapped on the way to the ball and being held at the abandoned cottage on the estate."

He continued. 'There were a couple other kidnapping scenarios, with different locations, but Lord Sherlock said at the time he felt this would be the most likely. He knew there was a spy in your household, and had made it widely known, in a casual way, about the abandoned cottage."

"You're right," said Molly, thinking admiringly of her husband's superior intellect. "He's a very clever man."

"None better than Lord Sherlock aHolmes, that's for certain. Anyway, due to the delay in finding me, we started late upon the road towards your father's estate. Along the roadway, we found the carriage in which you had been riding. Unfortunately, the coachman had been shot dead."

Lady Molly put a hand to her mouth in horror. "Oh, poor man!" she cried.

"A tragedy indeed," agreed Lestrade. "As I said earlier, we found Moran at the ball, already spreading gossip about you and his lordship going off on a belated honeymoon. We apprehended the man and threatened him, until he confessed all. He had been planning to take the carriage in which you had been riding, to join his master later. They had spent some time first, discussing what was to be done next, then Moran had gone on to the ball. Moriarty and two other men went to the cottage."

"How did you find the other men? I didn't see them."

"We were able to sneak up on them and knock them out. Then we tied them up and put them in the small carriage house next to the cottage. Moriarty was so cocky, he didn't think anyone would be smart enough to figure out his plan."

"But Sherlock did,"

"Moriarty slipped up. He was so full of himself, his own ego, he could not comprehend that anyone could outsmart him."

'Thank God you arrived in time to save us!"

"It took us so long to get there I feared we might be too late."

"Sherlock kept him talking, to buy you time, I am certain of it. Moriarty disclosed that he was instrumental in causing the death of Lord Sherlock's father."

Lestrade looked at her in surprise. "That's news to me, I thought the old Marquis was felled by a heart attack."

"it was made to look like one. When Moriarty said he had caused the heart attack, I realized Lord Sherlock's father must have been injected with potassium chlorride, to simulate a heart attack."

"Wow, I knew you were a college graduate, but not how clever you really are. I hope your husband is aware of that."

"He is," she smiled softly. Then she looked out of the window. "Are we almost there?"

"Any minute now. Fortunately the journey from the cottage is not really a long one."

Molly sat and waited. She was desperately worried for her husband, needed to see him to reassure herself he was going to be alright.

Finally the carriage stopped in front of John Watson's modest cottage. The other carriage that had been carrying Lord Sherlock was just ahead of them.

Lady Molly wanted to just pull open the door and rush in to see her husband, but she was unable to do so in her elaborate ballgown. The ballgown was looking decidedly the worse for wear at the bottom, where it had dragged against the dirt in front of the cottage to which Moriarty had taken his captives.

As soon as the coachman had assisted the Marchioness from the carriage, she hastened to the front door of the little house and opened it without bothering to knock. Inside she heard voices and made her way to the sounds, in the small sitting room was Dr. Watson, and he was cleaning Lord Sherlock's wound.

The Marquis was awake and complaining loudly about the doctor being "so bloody rough," and Lady Molly had to smile at the sound of her very much alive husband.

She rushed into the room and threw herself at her husband's feet, on the opposite side from where the doctor stood, tending to his wound. "Sherlock!" she breathed.

Their eyes met, "Molly," he said in his rich baritone voice that thrilled her. The Marquis made as if to rise, but the doctor restrained him.

"You'll have plenty of time for a proper reunion later,"said John Watson sternly.

"Please John, one kiss? She was ready to die for me. Doesn't she deserve that at least?"

The couple looked at the doctor hopefully.

John Watson frowned, then seeing their desperate expressions, relented. "Very well. But just one kiss, and then I simply must finish dressing your wound if you wish to get better."

"Thank you," said the Marquis and he rose slowly and a little unsteadily to his feet, pulling his wife up with him. Then he bent his dark, curly head down and touched her lips with his own.

Lady Molly felt as if a streak of lightning had hit her, such was the intensity of his kiss as he deepened it. Instinctively, she reached her hands out to clasp his shoulders as he encircled her tiny waist with his arms.

They continued their passionate embrace, oblivious to anything except their racing hearts. Molly's heart felt as if it were in her throat, it was so dizzyingly wonderful to be kissed this way, to know that the Marquis loved her as she loved him.

Finally the kiss was interrupted by a voice saying dryly, "Well now doctor, it appears our friend has a heart after all."

"I always told him he did," remarked the doctor.

Retaining his hold on Lady Molly, Lord Sherlock raised his head and looked over at his two closest friends. "Nope, you are wrong. I still have no heart." As the two men gazed at him open-mouthed, he added, "My wife made me realize I had one but then I lost it..." and he gave his wife the most tender look, "I lost it to you," he told her softly. Then his lips claimed hers again.

The young Marchioness would have happily stood in her husband's embrace indefinitely, but for the good doctor saying, "Enough now. You've had your kiss, and claimed an extra. Now you must allow me to finish dressing and bandaging your wound."

The Marquis reluctantly pulled away from his wife and sat back down, allowing the doctor to continue his ministrations.

Lady Molly stood vigil, unwilling to leave his side. She and Lord Sherlock gazed at each other longingly, he wincing once or twice when the doctor touched a particularly sensitive spot, while Molly felt pangs of sympathy pain.

Lestrade left after telling Lord Sherlock he would talk over the details of what had happened when the Marquis was properly healed.

Finally, Lord Sherlock's head was bandaged, the gauze wrapped around his head to keep the soft pad over the wound in place.

John Watson looked at his friend and said, "Well, I have good news and bad news."

The Marquis and Marchioness looked at him inquiringly.

"And what may they be?" questioned Lord Sherlock.

"The good news is that you should heal completely from this. There may be a thin scar, but that is all. You lost a good amount of blood, which is why you lapsed into unconsciousness, but the wound is not as deep as I had feared. As you know, it did not require stitches. You may experience headaches for a few days."

"Well, that is good news indeed."

Lady Molly was delighted that her husband would recover fully. She waited to hear the bad news.

"Unfortunately, the wound may be disposed to opening again if you indulge in anything more than the calmest of activities. You know what that means don't you?"

Lord Sherlock's gaze darkened. "How long?" he asked, irritation evident in his tone.

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks?" exploded the Marquis. "I've already lost two weeks with my bride and now you say I must wait two more?"

Lady Molly blushed when she realized what the two friends were arguing about.

"Two weeks. Not a day less, Sherlock. I should really make you wait a month to be sure your head is healed, but as you are a newlywed, I m willing to make an exception IF you promise to faithfully wait out the two weeks."

"Very well," huffed the Marquis. "I suppose I may be permitted to at least kiss my wife and share her bed?"

"As long as you don't allow things to get out of hand, Sherlock. I'm warning you. I know how anxious you are, but your health must take priority."

Molly, who had been listening intently to the exchange, spoke up. "I can wait, Sherlock. I was willing to wait forever for you anyway."

"Good girl," approved the doctor. "Now, let me take a look at both of you, and see how badly those ropes hurt you."

"I'm fine," Molly spoke up immediately. "Make sure my husband's wrists are tended to. The ropes were rather tight, and chafed terribly." Seeing the concerned look on John Watson's face, she added, "but mine do not require attention."

"Of course they do," the doctor told her firmly. He went to Lady Molly and examined her wrists. "Fortunately it is primarily chafing," he pronounced. "I will get some salve for you to apply for the next few days. It will help the healing process." He looked at Lord Sherlock's wrists and made the same pronouncement. "I always have a supply of medicines and ointments. I'll get a jar you can both use, morning and night, until you are healed."

The Marquis and Marchioness nodded and the doctor went in search of the salve.

"Quickly now, kiss me while he is gone," Lord Sherlock told his wife, and she willingly complied. Her husband held her firmly in his arms, then kissed her possessively, demanding a response. Her lips parted, and she let out an inarticulate sound of pleasure at the sensation. Her hands longed to thread themselves through his hair, but the bandage around his head prevented her from doing so, and she contented herself with clasping her hands behind his neck.

Lord Sherlock's mouth moved to kiss his way downwards, to the pulse beating frantically at the base of her throat. His mouth dipped lower yet, to kiss the creamy exposed skin above her décolletage and she gasped, arching into him as she had done that first night in the carriage. She had lost all sense of time and space, there was only her Sherlock, and he was kissing her the way she desperately wanted to be kissed.

And then of course, they were interrupted by the voice of John Watson saying dryly, "I may just have to keep you here for observation these next two weeks, Sherlock. I'm not sure I can trust you."

Molly blushed, but the Marquis merely straightened to his full height and said imperiously. "That will not be necessary, John. As you can see, I was merely kissing my wife."

"It's not the kissing I'm concerned about. It's what it may lead to."

"I give you my word John. I will go no further than kissing my Molly, until I have your permission. Is my word acceptable?"

"I suppose it will have to be," grumbled his best friend.

Lady Molly watched the exchange. Despite their words, it was obvious the men had a brother-like bond, and she was pleased that her husband had not been totally alone these last years.

"I will make sure Sherlock keeps his word to you," she told the doctor, who nodded and proceeded to apply the salve he had brought for them. The ointment had a cooling effect on the Marchioness's skin, and it immediately soothed the mild stinging sensation she felt at times.

The sound of crying came from the other room. "Excuse me, my daughter must have had a bad dream. When I return we should see about getting you back to the Hall. It is the middle of the night after all, and you both need rest. After that trip however Sherlock, you are not allowed to leave the Hall until further notice. I will stop by every day to see how your recuperation is progressing." He left the room as he spoke.

Immediately, the Marquis stood and once again gathered his wife into his arms. "Don't ever put your life in danger for me again, my sweet," he told her, holding her tightly. "You should never have tried to protect me."

"Sherlock, don't you understand? Without you I would have no wish to live and...that monster would have forced himself upon me in a way you never would have done." Tears glistened on her lashes. "I love you, Sherlock," she said, with a note of passion in her voice.

"As I love you, my precious, my sweet." Then he was kissing her again, with long, lingering kisses that drew her soul from her and placed it into his keeping.

Molly sighed with contentment. She was safe at last, and she was home.

 **Author's note:** I hope you found this chapter a satisfying payoff after the kidnapping.

How did you find the explanation of everything that transpired?

Do you think the Marquis and Marchioness will keep to their word and wait the two weeks, as instructed by John? Aren't I cruel to impose this restriction? As always, your feedback is most appreciated.


	16. Love and the Marquis

**_Two weeks?_** thought the Marquis sourly as he and Lady Molly rode in the carriage back to Sherrinford Hall. His body was consumed with desire for his wife. He longed for nothing more than to go home and spend the foreseeable future in bed with the woman he now knew he loved, getting to know her intimately rather than just intellectually.

Lady Molly sat beside him and they were holding hands. She was holding his hand so tightly, it was as if she feared she might lose him at any moment. Lord Sherlock supposed that was not surprising. He still did not know what had happened in between the time he had fallen back into unconsciousness and woken as the carriage arrived at his friend Dr. Watson's house.

His head had been throbbing and he had only been vaguely aware of being led into his friend's sitting room. His only clear thought was that Lady Molly had thrown herself in front of him when Moriarty had pointed the gun at him to end his life. In that moment, just before he had lost consciousness, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Those few seconds had lasted for a year. His life had flashed in front of his eyes.

The Marquis had flashed through his lonely existence before Molly, a life that consisted almost entirely of doing experiments, solving crimes and leading a primarily solitary existence, aside from his friendship with John. His life had separated into two distinct categories - before Molly and after Molly.

In the space of two weeks the Marchioness had completely turned his ordered existence upside down. She had challenged him right from the start. She was yielding, yet assertive in her expectations; soft, yet unbelievably strong; beautiful, yet humble of manner; afraid, yet braver than any woman he had ever known, or any man for that matter. And she had been willing to cut short her own life, so that he might live.

Of course, her death would have been in vain. Moriarty would most certainly have disposed of him as well, and found a way to explain it away. Yes, the money from Mr. Hooper would have reverted to him, but Moriarty would have found a way to get the money needed to keep the estate solvent, if he had to. It was only greed that made him want to use Molly's money instead of his own.

"Molly," he asked his wife, "before I fell unconscious, I heard a gun. I thought it was Moriarty firing upon me - you. What exactly happened?"

"It was Lestrade. Apparently Moriarty was so distracted with our conversation, as indeed were we, that we didn't hear him come up the stairs. Lestrade shot him. I didn't see it happen because I had closed my eyes. But," she shuddered involuntarily and the Marquis squeezed her hand in support, "I opened my eyes after the gun went off, wondering why I was still alive. I got up and stumbled over his body. There was...there was so much blood."

"Oh, my darling, this is all my fault," he cried. "I should never have allowed you to be put in such a dangerous position. I should have protected you."

"Sherlock, you could not have known it would take so long for Lestrade to get the message."

"I need to find out why it took so long, but I'll wait for him to tell me all about it. For now, I just want to talk about us."

She looked up at him shyly. "What about us?"

"We need to talk about how we are to proceed. You know I love you, and I desperately want to prove how much, but John was very firm with his instructions. That being said, will you allow me to at least be with you at night? Will you allow me to share your bed and hold you?"

"Why would you even feel the need to ask such a thing, my love? Of course you may. I want to be with you. I want you to be with me in any way that is possible."

"I know it sounds foolish, my precious, but I didn't want to take it for granted. After what Moriarty said to you, how he threatened to force himself upon you, I was not sure if it would make you fearful of me. You were afraid of me the first night."

Molly lifted her hand to his cheek and stroked it gently. "That was because I didn't really know you yet, I did not know if you would leave me alone or whether you would demand your entitlement."

"Oh, my Molly. Only a monster would force his attentions on an unwilling wife. When you refused my advances, it hurt my pride. I had opened up to you, revealed my own inexperience. I had never shared that with anyone before. Yes, people suspected I had never been with a woman, but you were the only person I ever told myself, let alone the fact I had never kissed a woman before."

"You...you don't feel inexperienced when you kiss me," said the Marchioness unexpectedly, with a little catch to her voice. Lord Sherlock began to feel his heartbeat accelerate at her words, and at her proximity.

Their conversation halted, as the carriage reached a standstill.

The coachman opened the door for the couple, offering assistance to the Marquis, which he rebuffed. "I can do it myself," he insisted, a little belligerently, then, seeing his wife's little frown added, "Thank you for offering to help." Lord Sherlock held his hand out for Lady Molly to take. She looked gorgeous, he reflected. Even after an almost sleepless night, with a partially ruined gown and her hair in disarray, she was lovely.

For the second time, he really noticed the rather low décolletage of her gown beneath the necklace. Her corset accentuated her tiny waist, but it also served to support her breasts and lift them so he could see an enticing amount of curve to her bosom. If John had not interrupted them earlier, he would have undoubtedly ventured to kiss the swell of her breasts. Involuntarily his free hand clenched. He had to not think this way, if he was to get through the next two weeks following doctor's orders.

Lady Molly noticed the way his gaze had shifted lower, and blushed. "Let's go inside," he told her.

Despite the lateness of the hour, there was a footman on duty in the front hall and other activity. Obviously a messenger had been sent ahead to announce their impending arrival.

"My lord, my lady," said Wiggins, who was the footman on duty. "A meal has been prepared for you in the breakfast room. Chef Ramsay was sure you would be hungry after your ordeal."

"Thank you Wiggins." So apparently the messenger had also relayed the details of their kidnapping and subsequent rescue. Lord Sherlock walked with Lady Molly to the breakfast room. He was glad it was to be used rather than the more formal dining hall. The breakfast room was much smaller, and a fire had been lit to take away the edge of the early morning chill.

For the first time, the Marquis realized his wife must have been cold. She had nothing to cover her shoulders, yet had not once complained. "Are you cold, my darling? Shall I have someone fetch something to cover your shoulders?"

"I'm alright, Sherlock. But I am hungry, and rather fatigued."

"I shall summon your lady's maid to be ready to assist you in getting ready for bed, after we eat."

Kayla was summoned as well as his own valet to be ready to assist with his own undressing. Thus satisfied, the Marquis and Marchioness selected food from the covered dishes on the sideboard. It was a hearty breakfast fare, being that it was closer to breakfast than any other meal time.

The pair ate hungrily, having not eaten the night before.

As they ate, Lady Molly remarked, "I wonder how the ball went last night without us. I was so looking forward to it. I wanted to look beautiful, for you." She looked at the Marquis as she spoke.

"When you came into the hall in that gown, I thought you looked like an angel."

"That's how I wanted you to feel. When did you realize you loved me a little?"

"Make no mistake, my Molly, what I feel for you is not 'a little.' Let us finish eating and get ready for bed. Then I will tell you how you have changed my life."

The Marquis and Marchioness finished their meal in companionable silence. Afterwards, they climbed the huge staircase to the first floor and Sherlock stopped beside the door to his wife's bedchamber, as had become his habit. He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. "Get ready for bed, my sweet. I will be with you as soon as I too am ready for bed."

He waited for Lady Molly to enter her room, where Kayla was waiting, then made his way to his own. His valet, Bates, was also waiting for him. "Should I have a bath drawn for you, my lord?" asked the valet solicitously.

"I am too fatigued at present," said the Marquis. "After I have had a few hours of rest, I should be glad of it."

Bates assisted the Marquis in removing his clothes, which were decidedly the worse for wear, especially his coat which had sustained bloodstains as a result of his head wound. The Marquis slipped on a nightshirt and dressing gown.

"'That will be all Bates. Please take my clothes and dispose of them. They would be much too hard to clean. I will ring for you in a few hours, once I have rested."

"Very good, my lord," responded the valet, as he picked up the ruined clothing and left the room.

The Marquis gave his wife some more time to get undressed, aware that itbwas always a longer process, remembering how long his mother always took to get dressed.

Eventually, he decided he had waited long enough. He went to the communicating door and knocked softly.

"Come in," responded a soft voice, and Lord Sherlock entered his wife's bedchamber. Looking around, he observed that his wife was alone, and she was already in bed. She was sitting up and he noticed, with a hint of disappointment, that she was not wearing the diaphanous nightgown of their wedding night, but a serviceable cotton one.

He stepped closer to the bed, feeling his heart suddenly pick up speed. Even in a plain nightgown, his Molly still looked lovely. "May I join you?" he asked, feeling a little shy, now that the moment was upon him.

"Of course." She patted the side of the bed next to her.

Lord Sherlock walked to the side of the bed, slipped off his dressing gown and got into bed beside his wife.

The bed was a large one, which meant they were separated by quite a large expanse of bed covers. Without saying anything, they gravitated towards one another, sliding closer to the middle of the bed.

When they were within touching distance of each other, Lord Sherlock reached over and took his wife's hand. "I believe it is time to finish our conversation from earlier - where I told you you have transformed my life," he said in a deep voice.

"I did not expect you to love me this way so quickly. I just wanted us to get to know one another, to build a relationship over time. What could I have done that changed your opinion of me so fast?"

"I don't really understand it myself. I know I was attracted to you immediately. My body responded to you, just as yours did to me."

Lady Molly blushed at that. "Every time you touch me, I respond to you. It's like something inside me reacts to your touch. But even before you kissed me in the church, I had only to look at you, and you made me feel like I couldn't breathe properly. From the first moment I saw you, I just felt something so strong rise within me, I can't really explain it. You just looked so distant, yet so handsome. And your eyes, there was so much in your eyes - sadness, pain, it broke my heart."

"You saw me before our wedding day?"

"I was at the church for your father's funeral."

Lord Sherlock looked at her in surprise. "Why didn't I see you, notice you?"

"My parents and I were towards the back. Papa was quite friendly with your father, as it turns out. Anyway, I don't think you noticed much of anything that day, you were there, and yet not."

"It was the shock. I thought my father had many years ahead of him, but then, the heart attack..."

"The simulated one, you mean. If not for your horrid cousin, your father may still have had many years of life."

"It was so clever of you to realize it was potassium chloride. Another example of what binds me to you. We can communicate on an intellectual level, which attracts me. I think you have transformed my life because you give selflessly of yourself. Nothing could have made that more evident than when you wanted to protect me."

He continued, "I know we still have much to discuss, but I am feeling so weary and weak right now. My head is beginning to ache again."

"Of course you must sleep," said Lady Molly quickly. "We have plenty of time to talk, and I just want you to be well as soon as possible."

The Marquis tugged at her hand, "Will you come a little closer, so I can kiss you goodnight?"

She closed the last distance between them. With his free hand, Lord Sherlock cupped the side of her face and their lips met in a kiss of exquisite tenderness and devotion. It was not a long kiss, as the Marquis was all too aware of how easy it would be to ignore the advice of his doctor and just do as he wished, but he knew the importance of following John's instructions. He would take no chances.

Instead they lay facing each other, bodies almost touching, the fingers of one hand entwined, and slept.

 **Author's note:** Well, our couple is behaving themselves so far.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	17. Free From Fear

Lady Molly opened her eyes and was for a moment confused to find she was not alone in bed. Then the events of the previous night came rushing back to her - the kidnapping, the ordeal she and her husband had been put through, and their rescue.

It was hard to believe Sherlock was really here, and that he loved her as she loved him. His cousin was dead so they no longer had anything to fear from him.

She wondered how many hours they had slept. It must undoubtedly be sometime after lunch by now. Glancing down at her hand, she saw it was still entwined with her husband's. Lord Sherlock still slept, facing her, and Lady Molly took the opportunity to really examine his face. His eyelashes were dark against his cheeks as he slept. She longed to touch those high, aristocratic cheekbones and full, sensual lips. Most of all, she wished she could touch those beautiful ebony curls, which were obscured for the most part, by the bandage around his head.

As the Marchioness continued to gaze at her husband, fascinated, he opened his eyes. Fathomless turquoise depths met her own warm brown eyes and she caught her breath. His lips curved in a smile as he said,

"It was not a dream, then. I half feared I should open my eyes to find myself back in my own bedchamber, alone."

Her lips tilted upwards in response as she said,"It is no dream, although I wish we could erase the events of last night, at least those which occurred after you said you loved me. I an so sorry we could not attend the ball. I was looking forward to it."

"We shall host our own," promised the Marquis. "If we make it for thirteen days from now, it can be a celebration of our marriage, and..." he added meaningfully, "our new wedding night."

Molly blushed, but held his gaze and said, "I would like that very much." Then she added, "How is your head feeling? How did you sleep?"

"My head hardly aches at all, and I slept surprisingly well. It must have been because you were with me."

Lady Molly's hand, which was still in his, released its grip so she could touch his face gently. "I noticed your doctor friend did not give you any laudanum to aid with your sleeping."

Lord Sherlock sighed. "That is something I have yet to tell you about. In my younger days, when I was at university, I would take opium regularly. It would help me escape the world. Once I left university and started helping Lestrade, I used it at times as well. It was after I met John, that he told me how dangerous it was to use opium, and he warned me it could be life-threatening. He was my only friend, so I ceased using it. My brother helped me through a difficult time, as I had to cope with the withdrawal. Only he and John knew. So you see, John would rather not give me anything that could put me at risk for returning to the way I was."

"Oh, Sherlock," breathed his wife. "I am sorry. It is brave of you to go through your recuperation without the aid of anything to ease your pain."

"It is my own fault. That is probably why John said we must wait two weeks for my head to heal properly. Now, my sweet, we should probably get up and see what time it is, and how we will spend the rest of the day. But first..." he leaned into her and his lips touched hers. Brief though the kiss was, it still made the Marchioness's lips tingle in response.

Then it was time to get up and make plans. Molly pulled the bell rope for her lady's maid, while Lord Sherlock left the bedchamber and apparently called upon his valet.

A short time later, the couple met in the dining hall for a late luncheon. After luncheon, arrangements were made to send out invitations for a ball, this time to be hosted by the Marquis and Marchioness of Sherrinford.

"I am so disappointed that I cannot wear my gown again, I believe it is beyond repair," mourned Lady Molly.

"Merely the skirt and petticoats," replied her husband. "I am sure the garment can be repaired. But I should like to commission a new gown from London for you to be ready in time for our ball."

"Should I not go to London for a fitting?" asked Lady Molly.

"That is not necessary. One of my gifts of observation is that I am able to determine sizes. I already know what an exquisite figure you have, and the gown shall be made according to my measurement instructions. Will you trust me?"

The Marchioness had blushed at his compliment on her figure. "Of course I trust you. I will be proud to wear a gown chosen by you."

The Marquis took her in his arms then and kissed her until they were both breathless.

"My Molly, my sweet, I look forward to seeing you in your gown at the ball, but I am looking more forward to removing it from you afterwards." There was a note of passion in his voice that his wife did not miss, and she responded to it by winding her arms around his neck and pressing herself against him. His lips met hers again in a fiery kiss of longing, that left the Marchioness wanting more.

On Tuesday Inspector Lestrade arrived to discuss everything that had happened with the Marquis and Marchioness.

Lestrade recounted the events of that evening to Lord Sherlock. Lady Molly sat quietly. She had of course, heard the details from the man himself on the journey beck to the village of Sherrinford. "Moriarty's henchmen are now in jail, as is Sebastian Moran."

"I'm glad to hear it. I give you my thanks for arriving in time to save us."

"I almost didn't. If it weren't for that other case holding me up, you would not have spent so much time in that cottage."

"It would not have made much difference to me, as you could not have prevented my being struck on the back of the head. It would have been better though if my wife had not heard Moriarty's nefarious plan."

"Moran did let us know about that. It makes no sense really. He was already a wealthy man. He had no need of Lady Molly's father's money."

"He was greedy and he made a mistake. He slipped up by wanting both my death and the money. Where was his body taken?"

"Back to London. I suppose his attorney took care of the funeral arrangements, but I didn't care enough to find out," said the inspector.

"Well thank you for clearing things up," said Lord Sherlock, before saying goodbye to the man.

After he left, Molly went to her husband's side. "It really is over then?"

"Yes, my precious,"said the Marquis in his deep voice that always made Lady Molly go weak at the knees. "There is nothing to be afraid of anymore, he cannot threaten us." He opened his arms and Molly walked into his embrace. They stood there, just holding each other for some time, amazed and overjoyed that their lives could continue without a shadow of fear encroaching upon them.

Each day Dr. Watson came to check on Lord Sherlock's head wound. The Marquis insisted that his wife be present to hear what his friend had to say. Lady Molly was extremely pleased to hear that Lord Sherlock's head was healing even better than the doctor had expected. Molly enjoyed listening to their easy banter especially when they forgot she was in the room. Her husband's headaches from the first two days had also subsided.

"It is due entirely to your physique and good health that you are recovering so fast," remarked the doctor.

"Does that mean you might reduce my two week ban on more active pursuits?" asked the Marquis hopefully.

"No, Sherlock. I told you if it weren't for your newlywed status, I would make you wait a month."

"This is utterly ridiculous," said Lord Sherlock petulantly. "I finally fall in love, and yet you refuse to allow me to bed my wife!"

"Oh you don't HAVE to follow my advice. But don't blame me when you start bleeding again and end up worse off. I'm only your doctor after all. It's not as if I really know anything," shot back his friend rather crossly.

Lord Sherlock pouted, but dropped the subject. "How much longer must I wear this infernal bandage around my head then?" he growled instead.

"You should be able to go without it by the end if the week."

"Well, that's something positive, I guess," said the Marquis, slightly mollified.

"Your wrists are almost healed," remarked Dr. Watson.

"Yes, Molly has been making sure we apply the salve faithfully each evening, as you suggested." Lord Sherlock looked over to her then, as if only just remembering she was in the room.

"I'm glad your wife at least has some common sense," approved the doctor.

Lord Sherlock folded his arms and looked down at his friend. "Are you implying I have no common sense?"

"Not as it pertains to what you wish to do with your wife prematurely," grinned the doctor.

"You may go now," said the Marquis with dignity, and John left, chuckling.

Lady Molly got up from the sofa and walked over to her husband. "You know he only wants what is best for you, Sherlock."

"I know, but that doesn't make It easier. Each night I stay in your bed, it Is harder for me to keep my self control."

"Would it be better if we slept apart for now?"

"No, no, I've grown accustomed to having you close by. If I slept alone, I don't think I could actually sleep."

"Then we must make the best of it."

That night, when Lord Sherlock came to her room and climbed into bed, she tried to not tempt him, offering merely a chaste kiss. The Marquis would have none of that however, he merely folded her into his embrace and kissed her tenderly, before instructing her to turn away from him.

Lady Molly was mystified as to why he no longer wanted her to face him, as she obeyed his instructions, but she understood when he pulled her towards him, so she was cocooned in the warmth of his embrace. She sighed with contentment as he held her, and they slept peacefully.

The following day brought some very surprising news. Lord Sherlock's attorney arrived unexpectedly from London.

Lord Sherlock entered the parlour where the attorney was waiting. Lady Molly was right behind him. She had been surprised when he asked her to come as well.

"Are you sure you wouldn't wish to speak with your attorney in private? I do not wish to intrude."

"Molly, I do not wish us to have any secrets between us. If he has anything of import to say, he can say it in front of both of us."

The Marchioness immediately took a seat after entering the room. She had no intention of contributing to the conversation, merely listening.

"So, what brings you here today, Anderson?" asked the Marquis curiously.

"I have some surprising, but very good news, my lord."

"And what would that be?"

"You probably don't know this, but your cousin died without making a will."

"Well, that was rather foolish. I suppose all his ill-gotten gains will revert to the Crown."

"Actually, that is not the case. As his closest living relative, you will be the recipient of his estate. It is a vast sum, my lord. Far more than the monies you received from Mr. Hooper upon your marriage."

Lord Sherlock stared at Anderson in amazement. "You are certain of this?"

"Oh yes, quite so, my lord. The money will be tied up for a few weeks while the paperwork is processed, but you will be a very rich man, even richer than before your father lost his money."

"I can't believe it," breathed the Marquis.

Molly felt her heart sink. Sherlock no longer required her money. Perhaps he would change his mind about her. Their marriage could be invalidated because it had not been consummated. It would no longer matter that her dowry would revert to her father. She felt the sting of tears in her eyes, and wasn't able to prevent them from trickling down her cheeks.

Lord Sherlock thanked his attorney and shook his hand, before ushering him out of the room. He still looked stunned at the news.

After the attorney was gone, Lord Sherlock turned to his wife, with a new light in his eyes. "Did you hear that, Molly?" he exulted, then noticed the tears spilling down her cheeks. "What is it? What's wrong? This is the most wonderful news! I will be wealthy, no longer dependent on the money from your father."

Lady Molly couldn't bear to look at her husband, but said in a low voice, "You don't need my father's money now. You don't need me either." She choked back a sob, then went on bravely. "If you wish to be free, it's not too late. W...we haven't made love yet, so the marriage can be dissolved." Her eyes were too full of tears to see him, but she felt her husband lifting her chin with both hands and wiping away her tears with the pads of his thumbs.

"Molly, my darling, you are being utterly ridiculous. I don't want to dissolve our marriage."

"B...but you would never have married me if you didn't need the money."

He put his arms around her then, holding her close, and she could feel the vibration of his heartbeat. It was definitely not thumping at a normal rate, but an accelerated one.

"I need you to listen to me, Molly." His voice was deep, and very moving. "I have to believe that somehow, some way God would have brought us together eventually. You were meant for me, and I was meant for you."

She turned her head upwards to look at him. He had the most tender look on his face she had ever seen, and it was hard to breathe. His lips curved upwards in a smile. "My foolish little angel, to think I'd ever want to leave you - don't you understand why I am so happy at this news?"

She shook her head, unable to speak, her mind processing the endearments he was using. He had called her his darling, his angel.

"It means you don't ever have to be afraid that I am only with you for your money. Now you will see that I choose you, whether you have money or not. I love you, with all my heart." Lord Sherlock bent is head and kissed her. It was the sweetest, most tender kiss they had ever shared. It was his vow to her that he loved her truly, deeply, and that nothing would ever separate them.

Lady Molly's heart swelled with love for her husband, and this time when the tears came, they were tears of joy.

 **Author's note:** This was a very satisfying chapter to write. I thought it would be nice to highlight their love as being something which was meant to be, regardless of wealth.

Did you enjoy the interaction between Sherlock and John?

I love hearing from my readers. If you are a fellow author, I especially urge you to give me feedback, because you understand how much that means to receive it yourself. Don't just follow the story or favourite it, make your opinion known!

Many thanks to those of you who follow along and review each chapter. I truly appreciate it, and your comments always bring a smile to my face!


	18. The Perfection of Love

On Saturday, John finally pronounced that Lord Sherlocck's head no longer required the bandage. The Marquis was inordinately pleased. Although he would not have admitted it, he hated having that infernal thing wrapped about his head constantly. His hair felt limp and greasy because it had not been washed for a week.

"May I be permitted to wash my hair now?" he asked, after John had unwound the bandage and inspected the wound, which continued to heal well.

"You would not be able to do it yourself. You can't see the back of your head, and it is important you not dislodge the scab that has formed. You must wash the area around it only."

"I could do that," offered Lady Molly who was, as usual, in the room with her husband.

"That would be acceptable," nodded the doctor.

That afternoon, Sherlock ordered that a bath be readied for him in his bedchamber before he was to retire for the evening. "You do realize it might be difficult for you to bend down to wash my hair in the bath. My hair will undoubtedly require close attention because it has not been washed in a week."

"I will manage," she answered.

"There is another option," he said slowly. He wasn't certain if his wife would be comfortable with it, but she was his wife, after all.

She looked at him inquiringly and he cleared his throat. "You could, if you wanted to, share the bath with me." He said the last few words in a rush, then held his breath, waiting for an answer.

"I..." she hesitated. "I should like that but," here she blushed, "what if my being naked in the bath with you leads to...other things?" Her cheeks were stained crimson and the Marquis thought she looked completely adorable.

"Let me worry about that," he told her with a reassuring smile, although inwardly his stomach was churning at the thought of finally seeing his wife completely naked.

Late that evening, the bath was duly prepared for the Marquis. Hot cans of water were laid beside it if required to make it warmer later. He had instructed his valet to leave four bath towels and a cloth with soap beside the bath.

"I will not be requiring assistance. You may leave once you have helped me undress."

Bates helped him remove his clothes and handed him a dressing gown to wear, then left. Lord Sherlock knocked at the communicating door to his wife's bedchamber, and entered upon her invitation.

He was surprised to find her still fully dressed. "I thought your lady's maid would have already helped you out of your gown," he remarked.

"I...I did not call upon her," was the shy response. "I thought...maybe...you would help me undress." She blushed again, as she had earlier that day.

"I would be glad to help, if that is what you want." He offered her his hand and she took it. Then he gently drew her back to his bedchamber where the bath awaited.

The Marchioness twisted her fingers together nervously. "I don't know why I'm so nervous," she confided, unable to look him in the eye.

"Would it make you feel better if I kissed you first?" he asked, and she nodded.

He lifted her chin with one hand and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss, until he could feel her trembling.

"Now, should we begin?" he asked.

She nodded shyly and he set to work.

It was no easy task. Lord Sherlock had never seen such convoluted things as the laces of her gown. He finally managed to loosen the strings enough that the gown was able to slide down her body, once she removed her arms from the sleeves. And there it sat, pooled at her waist and still held in position by the petticoats underneath.

"Molly," he said uncertainly, "what does your lady's maid do next? Does she remove the petticoats or the corset?" He was looking at his wife's back as he spoke. The corset really made her waist tiny indeed. **_It must not be comfortable to be cinched in that way,_** he thought.

"My...my petticoats." Lady Molly's voice was strained and he could feel her trembling once again, though whether from need or fear, he was not sure.

Lord Sherlock peered at the top of his wife's petticoats. How foolish of him. The petticoats were tied on top of the corset, so of course that had to come next. Finding the string that held the waistband in place, he untied it. The loosened petticoats fell to the floor, along with the gown, which was no longer supported by them. His wife wore a pair if modest drawers beneath.

Now he was nervous too. "Will you," he cleared his throat, "will you step out and away from the gown now?"

"Yes, Sherlock." She stepped out of her gown. Her back was towards him but he could clearly see her trembling now.

She was still modestly covered because the corset, although it was designed to cinch the waist and elevate her breasts, still covered them sufficiently. He had seen more through her see-through nightgown that first night. At that wayward tthought, he drew in his breath. Desire shot through him and he could feel his heart beginning to pound in his chest.

He turned her towards him and kissed her softly, tenderly.

"If this is not comfortable, I will call my valet to attend to my bath," he said gently.

"No." She swallowed. "I want you to do it, to undress me. It will be good practice for our 'new' wedding night, next week after the ball."

"You do have a point there," he agreed. "I will turn you away from me, toward the bath, and once you are undressed, you can step into it. That way, the water will cover you. Will that be acceptable?"

He felt her relax a little. "I should prefer that."

The Marquis positioned his wife so she stood before the bath. Then he struggled with the laces of her corset, almost swearing when it took him three attempts to undo the knots her lady's maid had made to keep it together tightly. Finally though, with a sigh of relief, he untied the knots and managed to loosen the corset strings. Even as he loosened it, he could hear Molly's inhalation, as if she had been unable to breathe properly, restrained by the infernal thing. He made a vow to himself. Once this following week was over, he would demand that she no longer wear the damned corset. Her measurements were perfect without its aid.

With the corset strings loosened, the Marquis hesitated. He wondered if Molly usually had it removed above her head, or stepped out of it. As if sensing his indecision, she lifted her arms, and he slid it upwards and over her head. He saw the beautiful, creamy expanse of her back, and had a strong urge to twist her around so he could fasten his eyes on her breasts. But instead he asked, "Should I remove your drawers, or would you like to do that?"

"I will do it." Her voice was soft, breathless. He should have averted his eyes as she removed them, but he couldn't help watching a delicate, curvaceous bottom come into his view, just before she hastily stepped into the bath. His heart hammered and he felt flames of desire bursting within him . Lord Sherlock cursed himself for the fool he was. This was, quite simply, torture and he hadn't even gotten into the bath himself yet.

The Marquis approached the bath, feeling as if he had been on horseback all day, he was so short of breath. Molly was sitting there, one arm modestly covering her chest, it was underwater.

"I'll get you the cloth and soap," he told her, reaching for both items and offering them to her. Automatically her arm reached up, the arm that was covering her chest, and he glimpsed once again that tantalizingly sweet pair of breasts that had affected him so on their wedding night. It was just the briefest of glimpses though, because she snatched the cloth and soap, and covered herself once again.

Lord Sherlock forced himself to breathe evenly, slowly. At this rate, he was going to scoop her out of the bath and take her to his bed, and to hell with the consequences. But his rational mind surfaced enough to warn him it would be a grave mistake.

Instead, the Marquis asked his Marchioness, "Will you move back, so I can sit in front of you? I should like you to wash my hair first, it is in such a state of disarray."

The Marchioness obediently moved back. Before doing anything else, Lord Sherlock tested the water with his hand. It had cooled somewhat, so he picked up one of the cans of hot water, which were not so hot now, but still warmer than the tub water, and poured it into the front of the bath, away from his wife.

He divested himself of his dressing gown, and stepped into the tub, keeping his back to his wife. He knew by Lady Molly's sharp intake of breath, that she had glimpsed his naked backside before he settled down into the tub.

Lord Sherlock moved backwards to be within reach of Lady Molly's hands. She had instinctively opened her legs so he could sit comfortably in front of her. He let out a little sigh of pleasure as she set about the task of washing his hair. Her fingers were gentle, as she soaped the cloth and used it on his hair, being extra careful,around the site of his head wound.

Once his hair was clean, the Marchioness asked hesitantly, "Would you like me to wash your back as well? That is a difficult area to reach."

"That would be most welcome," the Marquis gave his assent. After she had scrubbed his back, Lady Molly leaned forward to give him the soap to wash his body and he felt her breasts touching his back as she leaned forward. His breath hitched and once again, he was having trouble with his breathing.

As the Marquis washed his body, he sensed rather than saw, that the Marchioness was pulling the pins from her hair, so that she could wash it.

His own washing complete, Lord Sherlock asked, "Why don't I wash your hair? We can turn around so that you are in front of me."

Without waiting for a response, he moved to the opposite end of the bath and turned, then groaned and closed his eyes.

His wife's arms were still raised to pull the last of the pins from her hair, and that act lifted her comely bosom completely out of the water.

He heard her gasp in shock as he kept his eyes tightly closed and said, "God, you're so beautiful, Molly."

Then, to his complete astonishment, he felt his wife press her body against his, and touch her lips to his. He opened his eyes and looked into hers searchingly.

Her cheeks were red, but she was smiling as she said, "I really affect you so much? Just from you seeing my breasts?"

The Marquis groaned and put his arms around his beautiful wife. "Of course you do. I've longed to see them again since our wedding night. You're so perfect in every way. I...I want so much to touch them, to know they are real, to know you are mine." He kissed her, hungrily exploring her mouth, showing her without words how much he yearned for her, then finally rested his forehead against hers so he could try and catch his breath.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, my sweet?"

"You can touch them...if you want."

The blood began to pound through his ears, and he felt slightly dizzy when she took his hands and laid them against her bosom.

Her breasts were soft, softer than he could have imagined, and they fit perfectly into his hands. "Perfect," he breathed.

With a superhuman effort, Lord Sherlock removed his hands from her and said in a voice taut with emotion, "Turn around, my darling, so I can wash your hair. If you don't, I shall make love to you right now and just deal with whatever happens."

"No, no, you mustn't," Lady Molly said urgently. "I don't want to risk anything untoward happening, not when we have but one more week to wait." She turned her back immediately.

The Marquis groped in the bottom of the tub for the forgotten soap and cloth while Molly dipped her head back in the water to wet it. Upon finding the soap which would barely be enough to wash her hair, let alone her body, he worked the soap into a lather and wiped it along her hair, massaging it with his fingers. It was so intimate, he thought, washing her hair this way. He had never thought he would ever do anything like this.

When her hair was clean, the Marchioness tipped her head backwards again, to rinse off the soap, and she took the remaining sliver so she could wash the rest of her body.

The Marquis stepped out if the tub, wrapping himself in a towel. He dared not look at his wife again, lest his resolve should weaken. After towelling himself dry, he put on his dressing gown again.

Lady Molly suddenly made an exclamation. "I have no nightgown to put on in here."

"I'll get one," her husband said, and he made his way into her bedchamber. He searched for her nightclothes, but was unable to find the nightgown she had been wearing. Presumably it had been taken for washing. He did however, find the diaphanous one from their wedding night. He supposed that was better than nothing, especially in light of the fact he had now clearly seen, and touched her feminine curves.

He took the nightgown back into his bedchamber. The Marchioness was out of the bath, with a towel around her hair and another around her body. He handed her the sheer nightgown apologetically. "I'm sorry, my love. I could not find the other one."

"Oh. Kayla must have taken it to be washed." She took the nightgown from him.

"Go to your bedchamber and put it on, then get into bed," he told her a little brusquely. He saw the immediate hurt in her eyes. "Darling, forgive me for my rude tone. I just...I need you to get into bed before I lose control of myself." Comprehension dawned, and she obeyed him.

The Marquis pulled his bell rope. Upon Bates's arrival , he furnished him with instructions to have the bath removed from the bedchamber. "I shall have no need for you unrtil morning. The bath can be removed immediately as I will be in the Marchioness's bedchamber."

"Very good, my lord."

It wasn't until he went through the communicating door that he remembered he had not thought to fetch a nightshirt for himself. He was too embarrassed to return to the chanber however.

Lady Molly was already in bed, waiting for him. He blew out the single candle next to what he now considered his side of the bed and removed his dressing gown, then got into bed. The sheets were cold against his bare flesh and involuntarily, he shivered.

His wife turned to him in the darkness. "Sherlock? What is amiss? I feel the bed moving."

Damn, the woman was acutely sensitive, he thought. "It is nothing. I forgot my nightshirt. I shall warm up soon enough."

His wife continued to surprise him. She came closer to him in the darkness and found his lips with hers, offering the most gentle of kisses. Then she turned from him and pulled his arm securely around her. "Come closer, my love. Let me warm you."

He moved in closer, feeling the contact of his bare skin agains her thin nightgown. So little separated them, and he wanted her. God, how he wanted her. Once again, he forced his mind to regain control over his traitorous body.

It was quite some time after he heard the steady breathing of his wife, that he too was able to sleep.

* * *

 **Author's note:** How did you find the bath scene? I had fun with that.

As an opera singer, at times I have worn costumes with corsets. Ours are not designed to practically cut off our breathing of course (otherwise singing might be difficult!), but they do give a nice hourglass figure. The strings really cannot be tied or untied alone. We have dressers who help with that. So I actually have practical experience with period gowns/corsets. Knew it would come in handy some day ha ha.


	19. Tempted to Love

Lady Molly's eyes flew open. Her husband's hand was moving over her hip and he was pressing into her. She could feel his naked body through the sheer fabric of her nightgown and the clear evidence of his desire, and her breath hitched.

"I want you, Molly. I need you. I need to know what it's like, to make you mine," he murmured.

She could hear the desire in his voice and couldn't tell if he really knew what he was saying, whether he was awake or dreaming.

He moved against her again in invitation, and she twisted in his arms to face him. His eyes were partially open, but she still couldn't tell if he really knew what he was doing.

"No Sherlock, we can't, we mustn't..."

Instead of acting as a deterrent, her movement only served to add fuel to the fire that was obviously raging within him, and his lips descended upon hers.

He was kissing her, hard, showing her his need for her, and her own senses flickered into flame as she instinctively returned his kiss, yearning to be with him also, to truly know him as her husband.

His arms were around her now, and he deepened their kiss as she let out a little gasp of pleasure.

Her hands went up to do what they had wanted for so long, now that the bandage was gone. She threaded her fingers through that newly washed, curly hair.

Suddenly, he stiffened, and then he let out a sound of pain. It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown onto the fire. She had inadvertently touched a still tender spot on his head.

"Oh, Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I..."

His eyes came fully open and he looked at her. Then he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing heavily. "No. I'm the one who should be sorry. I was half-asleep. I lost control. Your body - it tempts me so, especially when I am in my current state of undress." He smiled ruefully.

Lady Molly giggled. "I guess we had better make sure you are wearing your night shirt this coming week. I should find my other, very plain nightgown. Then perhaps we can avoid temptation."

He kissed her lightly. "You tempt me just by looking at me, but I suppose more clothes in bed will help."

She sat up. "I would like to go to church this morning, because we missed it last week. I want to offer a special prayer of thankfulness..." her voice trailed away. She realized, to her consternation, that Lord Sherlock was not looking at her face, but down at her breasts which were clearly visible through the filmy nightgown. Once again she hadn't been thinking. She covered her chest hastily. "Sherlock!"

His eyes returned to her face. They were glazed with desire again and she saw him blink and visibly try to assert control once more.

"Sorry, sorry. You're not making this easy for me, wife. Now, what were you saying?"

"I was saying I'd like to attend church and offer a special prayer of thankfulness to God that He protected us, saved us, and that we love each other."

"Well, technically it was Lestrade who saved us."

"But it was God who enabled him to find us in time," she insisted stubbornly, adding, "and it was God who put things in motion for us to be together."

"well, I have to concede that it does seem as if some Higher Power must have been watching over us," he agreed, a little reluctantly.

"So, will you come with me to church again?"

"I suppose I owe this God of yours some gratitude, so yes, I will come."

"He isn't my God, Sherlock. He's everyone's God, whether they believe in Him or not."

"yes, my darling," he soothed, leaning into her and kissing her once again. She knew he was only trying to placate her, but at least it was a step in the right direction.

The Marquis slid to the edge of the bed and reached down to retrieve his dressing gown from where he had discarded it the night before. He slid it over his shoulders and rose from the bed. He did it so well that Lady Molly was a little disappointed to not see any of his bare skin. It really wasn't fair, she thought. He had gotten an eyeful of her bosom. She twisted her lips into a wry smile. Probably just as well. She was just as susceptible to the temptation of him, as he was to her.

"I'll leave you to get dressed, and meet you downstairs for breakfast," her husband said, before leaving the room.

The Marchioness pulled on her bell rope, and shortly thereafter Kayla came bustling in.

"My lady!" she exclaimed. "I was worried when you didn't call upon me last night to help you undress...and your hair. Oh my lady, it is terribly tangled. I shall need some time to brush the knots out before I arrange it."

Lady Molly blushed. "Lord Sherlock helped me undress. We...we had a bath so I could wash his hair properly, now that the bandage is off," she explained. Why did she feel so embarrassed? He was her husband after all.

Kayla knew of course that Lord Sherlock was now sharing her bed. It wasn't like she could conceal the indentation his body made in the bed, so the lady's maid merely smiled knowingly. "Let us go to your dressing table and I shall brush out your hair."

The Marchioness obeyed. She felt self conscious wearing her diaphanous nightgown, not that she should feel that way. As her lady's maid, Kayla was used to seeing her naked. It was Kayla, after all, who helped her put on her corset and petticoats, as well as gown. "Kayla, do you know what happened to my nightgown I was wearing? Was it taken for Washing?"

"Yes, my lady. I took it yesterday, and was going to bring it to you last night, when you called. But, I didn't hear from you. I apologize. I should have brought it to you this morning, but I forgot. Were you inconvenienced?"

"Not exactly, but, well, it was a little difficult for Lord Sherlock to deal with," she said.

She saw the look of surprise in her lady's maid's eyes and confided, "Lord Sherlock's doctor gave him strict instructions to not exert himself in any way, until his head is healed. He told my husband it would take two weeks."

"Oh, I understand. Two weeks since your ordeal is still almost a week away. That is the night of the ball you are hosting."

Kayla was gently brushing the tangles out of Lady Molly's hair as they talked. It was a good distraction. "Yes, the night of the ball. I am looking forward to it for two reasons."

"Oh, my lady, I am so glad. I thought, although you have not said as much, that things had changed for you and the Marquis. You said you wanted him to love you. He does, doesn't he?"

"Indeed he does." Lady Molly's eyes met those of her lady's maid through the reflection of the looking glass.

"How could he not?" smiled Kayla. "You are beautiful, intelligent, anything a man could wish for."

"Thank you. I am so happy, Kayla. He is coming with me to church again today, so we must make haste if I am to have time to eat beforehand."

"Of course, my lady." Kayla began to brush her hair more vigorously. She arranged the Marchioness's hair a little less elaborately, in a chignon with just two curls on either side of her face, due to the time constraint. Then she laced Lady Molly into a violet gown of fine silk.

"Oh, my lady," breathed the lady's maid, "you look so beautiful, and so happy too."

Lady Molly smiled at Kayla, "I am very happy."

She went downstairs to join her husband in the breakfast room. He was of course, already there, looking as handsome as ever, even more-so now that his hair was free from the bandage.

Instead of kissing her hand, he came to her, lifted her chin and kissed her sweetly on the lips. Lady Molly felt her lips tingle.

Lord Sherlock waited for her to be seated, before sitting himself.

They ate breakfast in companionable silence, glancing at each other frequently.

When they entered the church awhile later, Lord Sherlock was holding her hand.

The Marchioness noticed a few people whispering at their entrance. She wasn't sure whether they were discussing their recent kidnapping, or the fact that the pair looked so happy and in love. To be honest, she didn't really care.

During a time of prayer, Lady Molly offered up her prayer of praise and thanksgiving. She felt the presence of God around them and knew she was blessed. Even Lord Sherlock seemed moved in the quiet stillness that surrounded them as other people also offered their own prayers.

After the service, the couple spent some time in polite conversation with Sherlock's mother and Molly's parents. They all expressed their anticipation of the forthcoming ball. Mr. Hooper assured his daughter that the ball the previous week had been a success, despite their absence. While Sherlock spent a few minutes with his mother, Lady Molly took her father aside and spoke to him quietly. She had an idea, but she needed her father's help. Then she returned to her husband and smiled at him. Soon they were headed home.

The week leading up to their ball seemed to fly by. The servants at the Hall were busy with preparations, making sure every room was dusted, every floor spotless. The chef made elaborate plans for all the dishes that were to be offered.

Despite the hustle and bustle, the Marquis and Marchioness were hardly aware of what was going on around them, so intent were they upon each other.

John, who was still monitoring Lord Sherlock's wound, continued to visit every day, and each day Lord Sherlock would plead with him to lift the ban on excessive activity, but the doctor remained firm on his position. After four days, the Marquis conceded defeat.

"At this point, we have only three more days to wait anyway", the Marquis commented later that night in bed.

They had maintained a strict regimen at night. Lord Sherlock would wait until Lady Molly was in bed. They wore nightshirt and nightgown, the grandmother one, as Lady Molly laughingly described it.

They would kiss chastely, for the most part, and the Marquis would hold her in his arms. Then they would sleep.

During the day, they kept the routine of the first two weeks - breakfast, drawing room, luncheon, workshop, dinner, library, then bed.

On Friday morning, Lady Molly's custom made gown arrived. It had cost an exorbitant sum, due to several seamstresses being employed around the clock to work on it, so it would be finished in time.

Lord Sherlock excused himself after lunch to visit his mother, while Molly went upstairs to try on her new ballgown.

In her bedchamber, Kayla helped the Marchioness put on the gown, after fastening her corset and petticoats.

The ballgown was, quite simply, the most gorgeous gown Lady Molly had ever seen. It was of a rich green colour, and the skirt had a beaded rich green satin underskirt. The overskirt was green chiffon with ruching along it that showed glimpses of the rich satin beneath. It was positively breath-taking. The bodice was off-the-shoulder, with swathes of chiffon that shaped into a sweetheart neckline. On the chiffon were beaded butterflies with a larger one in the centre. The rest of the bodice was ornamented with tiny diamanté that sparkled at every movement Molly made.

The gown fit perfectly, as Lady Molly had known it would. There were even green satin slippers to match. Confident that the gown was perfect, Lady Molly got undressed, back into her regular day gown.

That night in bed, Lord Sherlock placed his arms around her and asked, "So, what do you think of your new gown? Do you approve of my choice?"

"Oh Sherlock," she breathed, "it's stunning. I can't wait to wear it for you tomorrow."

"My love, I can't wait to see you in it as well, but I must confess, I am more looking forward to removing it from your body afterwards, and making love to you as I have longed to do for what seems like an eternity."

The Marchioness gurgled with laughter. "Oh Sherlock. Tomorrow will only be four weeks since we wed."

"Like I said, an eternity." He kissed her then, with more passion than he had done in the past few days. Lady Molly knew he had been exerting a tremendous amount of self control and was now almost at his breaking point. Although she longed to be with him, she had to be the voice of reason.

"Tomorrow my love. Let us sleep, so that tomorrow will arrive sooner."

She snuggled into his embrace, and they slept.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. It would be a perfect day for the ball.

Dr. Watson stopped by in the morning one last time to check upon Lord Sherlock. He pressed gentle fingers against the area of the Marquis's head which had sustained the heavy blow. "How does it feel?" he asked.

"It is not sensitive anymore.," the Marquis said confidently, then winced a little when John pressed a little harder.

"Ow, what was that for?" he complained to his friend.

"Lucky for you, that is just residual bruising. It's lucky you have a hard head, Sherlock."

Lady Molly, who had been watching the exchange spoke up. "You are satisfied with his progress?"

"Yes, I think so," affirmed the doctor.

"Finally!" exclaimed Lord Sherlock. "I have fulfilled your two week mandate and let me tell you, it has not been easy. You have but to look at my wife to know I have had to exert an iron control in her presence. For God's sake John, do not prolong this torture for me anymore! Will you tell me I can finally take my wife to the marriage bed or not?" He was almost roaring at the doctor by the final words, and the Marchioness blushed furiously.

John Watson threw up his hands. "I couldn't stop you if I wanted to," he said. "Enjoy your new wedding night, Sherlock."

"Thank you!" exulted the Marquis. Without warning he picked his wife up and twirled her around, then he put her down and began to kiss her, his mouth moving insistently against hers.

Lady Molly forgot where she was, what was happening around her as her focus centred entirely on the incredible feel of her husband's lips on hers. This time, when her fingers reached up to touch his curls, the Marquis did not stiffen, or cry out. Instead he merely groaned and held her tighter.

A slight cough behind them alerted them to the fact that Dr. John Watson was still in the room, witnessing their amorous display.

"You might want to wait until after the ball," he said dryly. "If you don't, you will undoubtedly be absent from it. It's one thing to miss a ball due to being kidnapped, entirely another when you are the ones hosting the ball in the first place."

With great reluctance, Lord Sherlock released his wife. Lady Molly almost whimpered at his withdrawal, but she knew John was right. She had a very strong feeling that once they entered her bedchamber that night, they would not be exiting it anytime soon.

In the afternoon, Lady Molly went upstairs to rest, in anticipation of the evening ahead. Their ball was to begin at eight, just like the one they had missed. Unfortunately, she was unable to sleep, so gave up and climbed back out of bed.

With time on her hands, she decided to write a letter to her husband, that she would present to him later that evening.

The Marchioness sat at her writing desk and began to pour out her heart.

 ** _"_** ** _Dearest Sherlock,_**

 ** _I write this to you, in anticipation of our new wedding night which is to occur after the ball this evening._**

 ** _I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. It is my dearest wish to be your closest companion for life, your confidant, your helpmate with your work, your lover, and of course, the mother of your children._**

 ** _I ache for the lonely little boy you were, when you were growing up, and I hope my love will be sufficient to erase those sad memories of your past. I believe our love is a blessing from God, and I promise to show you each and every day that we are soulmates, that we were always meant to be together, from the beginning of time._**

 ** _With all my heart, and all my love,_**

 ** _Your Molly XXX"_**

With a little sigh of contentment, Lady Molly sealed the letter. She then went over to her bed and put it under the pillow Lord Sherlock used.

Thinking about wha to write had taken some time, and it wasn't long before it was time to get dressed. Molly rang the bell rope for Kayla.

When the lady's maid arrived, she arranged the Marchioness's hair more elaborately than ever before. Not only were ringlets bouncing all around her head, there were also diamanté butterfly shaped pins in her hair as well, that Kayla had discovered inside the bag which contained the satin slippers.

As host and hostess of the ball, the Marquis and Marchioness had to be downstairs a half hour early, in order to be ready to greet their guests.

Finally, dressed in her exquisite gown, Lady Molly descended the staircase to meet her husband, who was already standing at the bottom. The look of adoration on his face made her heart skip a beat, and she trembled when she reached the bottom of the staircase, because he kissed her hand, then said, with an unmistakable note of passion in his voice, "The only thing better than you in this gown, is later, when you are out of it and in my arms.

* * *

 **Author's note:** Finally Lord Sherlock has the green light! Are you looking forward to the ball, and to see what happens afterwards?


	20. Love Solves the Problem

Lord Sherlock felt as if the past several days had lasted years. He was acutely aware of his wife, and how much he desired her. He would never have believed this depth of emotion was possible if he wasn't experiencing it himself.

If it weren't for the fact he had learned to control and suppress his emotions for so many years, he would have been unable to control the fire that burned within him. Each day it threatened to consume him, and each day he forced it back.

He resented his best friend for his cruelty, even though he knew it was for his own good.

Thank God for his wife. She had done as much as she could to make it easier, wearing that "grandmother" nightgown. She kept their kissing in bed short and sweet. Keeping their strict routine during the day also helped, and the Marquis tried very hard to talk of ordinary things and not allow his mind to wander. That wasn't so hard in the daylight hours. But oh, how he ached for her at night. That was when all the images of their encounters would hit him full force. The sight of her breasts beneath her nightgown, the sight of them exposed in the bath. The way she had allowed him to touch them.

But he had survived the torment and been given John's blessing to finally consummate his marriage tonight after the ball. Lord Sherlock wondered briefly why on earth he had arranged for a ball in the first place. Then he remembered, he was doing it for her, for the woman he loved. She had missed the last ball because of him, and he wanted her to be happy.

On Friday, when the gown he had ordered arrived at Sherrinford Hall, he had left Lady Molly to try it on, and he went to see his mother.

Unlike the last time, this time his mother seemed to know why he was there.

"Come in, my son. I think I can guess why you have come today."

"And why is that, Mother?"

"Because of the ball tomorrow. You wish to provide your wife with more jewellery."

Lord Sherlock's lips curved in a smile. "Mother, I always knew I got my superior intellect from you."

"Of course you did, darling. Your father would not have lost all that money if he had bothered to listen to me." She tossed her head. "He was always more interested in my beauty than my brains."

Sherlock laughed. His mother was still a beautiful woman, and his blue-green eyes were a legacy from her, as well as her sharp mind. "Well, Mother, may I see the jewels again?"

"As I told you two weeks ago, they belong to you now. I have no need of such elaborate jewellery. This time you must take the entire box with you."

"Are you sure, Mother?"

"Of course. But tell me one thing. I saw how happy you were at church on Sunday. You have confessed your love for your wife, and she has also done so?"

"I loved her the day I cane to you last, but not for certain until John made me admit it out loud. We had just said the words to each other when Moriarty kidnapped us."

"I am glad that nasty man is dead and gone. And now I shall have the hope of grandchildren in my old age."

"I hope so too."

The dowager Marchioness fetched the enormous jewellery box, as well as several velvet cases.

Lord Sherlock searched through the jewels and held up an emerald necklace triumphantly. "I knew I saw this last week. Are there matching earrings?"

"I'm sure there are." His mother helped sort through the gems and at last found the earrings which matched the necklace.

The Marquis laid the necklace and earrings into one of the velvet cases.

"Now take the box," instructed the elderly woman.

"Thank you, Mother."

So Lord Sherlock now had the jewellery box in his personal safe.

Just as he had done two weeks earlier, he waited at the bottom of the staircase with the velvet case in hand.

When the Marchioness descended the staircase, he heart did a somersault. He had thought she looked exquisite in her gold gown, but in this enerald one, she was perfect. She was his angel. The smile on her face was so radiant he had to remind himself to breathe. He knew he was smiling back at her with undisguised love and adoration in his eyes. As he gazed at her perfect figure he could not help thinking about what would happen after the ball, what he was most looking forward to.

He could not help telling her, after he kissed her hand, "The only thing better than you in this gown, is later, when you are out of it and in my arms."

Lord Sherlock held out his left hand. "Another wedding present, my love, my...bride."

She took the black case and opened it. "They are so beautiful," she breathed. "Will you hold the case while I put the earrings on, and then will you please help me again with the necklace?"

"Of course, my sweet."

Lady Molly took the earrings and put them on. Then she held her hair out of the way as she had done two weeks earlier, so her husband could fasten the beautiful necklace around her neck. This time he did not merely brush his lips softly against her neck afterwards, he pressed several tender kisses against her lovely skin and she trembled visibly.

He turned her to face him. This evening, she wore no makeup, but her cheeks were pink with excitement, and she radiated love that made her glow from within. He cupped either side of her face and kissed her tenderly. At her immediate response his kiss became more intense. He forced himself not to extend it further. They needed to be ready for when their guests arrived.

The newlyweds stood near the entrance to the ballroom and greeted their guests. It seemed that everyone of importance in the area was there. People expressed congratulations again on their marriage, and sympathy for what they had gone through two weeks earlier.

Lord Sherlock's mother came of course, as did Lady Molly's parents. By the way Mrs. Hooper was beaming, he was quite certain she had guessed that her daughter had won his heart. He couldn't help smiling, and he looked at his petite wife constantly. He wondered if his face was as radiant as hers was.

He squeezed her hand, which he held continuously, except for the times she had to remove it from his grasp when they were greeting guests.

The guests seemed to have all arrived and Kaitlyn, Molly's friend took the Marchioness away for a private chat.

Lord Sherlock was just about to move further into the ballroom, when an unexpected voice said from behind him, "Hello, brother mine."

The Marquis turned around in shock. There stood his brother, whom he had not seen in several months. Standing beside him was Irene Adler herself, although he supposed she was Irene Holmes now, and she was undeniably with child.

What was strange was the expression he saw on her face when she looked at her husband as he greeted his younger brother. She didn't look manipulative or evil at all. In fact, she was looking at Mycroft with the same soft expression of love that Molly gave him on frequent occasions.

"What are you doing here, Mycroft?" he asked. His voice was not unfriendly, merely curious. He realized he had missed his sibling.

"Apparently your wife has been keeping secrets from you, little brother. My wife and I were living a quiet life of obscurity when we were tracked down by someone hired by your wife's father."

The Marquis looked around for the Marchioness. He saw her several yards distant, in close conversation with her friend. Apparently he would not be able to question her until later.

"I...it's good to see you, Mycroft." He had been about to say he had missed his brother, but was still a little uncertain at this new development.

Mycroft observed him closely. "You look happy Sherlock. Am I to assume yours is a love match?"

"It wasn't at first, but it is now," admitted the younger man. "I suppose you heard about what happened to Father's money?"

"I an glad you have found someone to love, and of course I heard about Father's untimely death."

"He was murdered," said the Marquis in a hard voice. "Moriarty had him injected with potassium chloride to bring on a fatal heart attack. The bastard admitted it when he kidnapped my wife and myself."

"I am very sorry you had to go through that," said Irene softly. She seemed genuinely regretful.

"Why would you care?" asked the Marquis tersely. "You were working for Moriarty."

The lady dropped her gaze and her hands went to rest protectively on the swell of her abdomen. "I know," she said in a low voice. "I am not proud of that, nor my past." Then she looked at Mycroft with that soft expression again before returning her gaze to the Marquis's face. "What Moriarty did not expect was that I would fall in love with your brother, deeply in love. I...I had determined to leave Moriarty's network, in order to save Mycroft from the shame of being associated with me, but he followed me. Of course he was disinherited as a result."

Mycroft took her hand and kissed it affectionately. "And I would do it again, my dear. I have no regrets in being disinherited, save the fact that the action forced my younger brother to take on the burden." He looked at Lord Sherlock. "Of that I am truly sorry."

"I forgive you, Mycroft." His words were sincere. "If things had not happened the way they did, I would most likely have never met, nor fallen in love with my beautiful wife."

Even as he finished the words, he felt his wife's presence and turned to look at her.

Lady Molly was gazing at him with such adoration in her eyes he was tempted to kiss her right then and there, but instead he said, "Mycroft, may I present to you my wife, Lady Molly."

"Molly, please," she said as the man bowed over her hand.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Molly. I am very glad my brother has found love after all these years. And may I present to you my wife, Irene?"

The two women nodded at each other politely.

"Mycroft, I'm not sure if you are aware of this, but upon Moriarty's death I became heir to a vast sum of money as his next of kin, for he left no will. The money should be coming through shortly. Would you permit me to buy you a cottage nearby? I'm sure Mother would like to have you close by, and she will undoubtedly want to know her grandchild."

"Oh, that sounds like a lovely idea," exclaimed his wife. "It would be simply wonderful if we have a child, that he or she should have a cousin close by."

Sherlock's heart leaped at the thought of having a child of his own. He realized now how desperately he wanted to have a baby with his wife, to be a father. He waited with bated breath for his brother's answer.

Mycroft looked at Irene, who smiled and nodded. "I should like that very much, brother mine. Irene and I have really not made any friends in Dover, so moving back here would not be an imposition for us, although we may not be welcomed by others."

"I can take care of that problem," replied the younger man confidently. "Come with me."

He motioned for the three to follow him. They went to where the string orchestra was playing music and spoke to the conductor briefly. The music stopped and there was a sudden hush in the room.

Lord Sherlock cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my privilege to announce that my brother Mycroft and his wife Irene have returned to Sherrinford. I hope you will accord them the same courtesy you accord me."

As he spoke, he saw his mother weaving her way through the crowd with a delighted smile upon her face, and he knew his job was done. Nobody would dare ostracize Mycroft, when he had the public backing of his powerful brother, just as the Marquisate had put a protective covering over Lady Molly and restored her good name.

Even now, people were coming up to speak to his sibling, after he was greeted by his mother of course.

He felt Lady Molly slip her hand through his. "That was a wonderful thing you did for your brother."

He turned to look at her. "You are the reason I could do it. I recognized they are truly in love, just as we are. Why wouldn't I want them to share in our good fortune? If things had been different, he would be the Marquis now, and I would still be alone, thinking I had no heart."

"I don't know about that. I believe we were destined to be together. We would have found each other somehow."

He lifted her hand to his lips. "God, I wish I could kiss you right now and just leave this ball behind." He could see her pupils dilate and her breath hitch as he spoke the words.

"I do too, but our time will be here soon enough." Then she added, her lips curving into a beautiful smile. "We still need to lead the waltz. Then perhaps we can slip away early if we can ask your mother to take care of the guests."

Lord sherlock could not help himself. He lifted his wife's chin and kissed her gently, uncaring of any people who might be watching their inappropriate behaviour. They were newlyweds after all.

Indeed there were some murmurs from the crowd as he answered, "I should like that above all things," before kissing her again. He vaguely realized they were still clearly visible on the raised platform where the small orchestra sat. Reluctantly he released her. Several people were smiling indulgently, in fact, more seemed to be smiling than frowning. It was only several elderly women who seemed shocked at such untoward behaviour in a public place.

The Marquis assisted his Marchioness off the platform so they could mingle with the guests.

* * *

 **Author's note:** The ball has arrived! Finally we get to see Mycroft. What did you think about the reunion between the brothers? Did you find it interesting to see him paired with Irene?

Are you just dying for the ball to be over already? Have I kept you in suspense long enough? Do you want more stories/dreams like this?

I appreciate and welcome your feedback, as always. They always brighten my day.


	21. Love By Moonlight

Lady Molly smiled at her husband as he helped her down from the platform.

The night was going very well. It seemed as if everyone who had been invited to the previous ball was at this one. Everyone was very kind, and many people had made mention of the fact that they were relieved the Marquis and Marchioness were safe.

Every time she looked at Lord Sherlock, her heart fluttered. He was looking at her with such open love, and she could see the desire in his eyes. It transformed his face into that of a man who seemed much younger.

She was so glad things had worked out with the two brothers as well. When Moriarty had been talking to them, the Marchioness had picked up on the fact that Irene had been in his employ, but had abandoned him when she truly fell in love with Mycroft.

Lady Molly had taken her father aside on Sunday and asked him to locate Mycroft Holmes and his wife. She only knew they were in Dover, but was certain one of her father's contacts would be successful in finding him. The Marchioness longed to give her husband a gift, to restore the relationship with his brother. She was very pleased her father had been successful at locating the man, and informing him about the ball tonight, for which she had then issued an invitation.

Before Mycroft arrived however, her friend Kaitlyn had taken her aside for a private chat.

"Molly! I haven't seen you since the wedding. You have to tell me everything that has happened. You and your new husband look very happy. I take it you were successful in getting him to fall in love with you?"

The Marchioness beamed at her friend. "Yes, we love each other."

"I knew it!" exulted Kaitlyn. "Was it your kidnapping which made him realize he loved you? I'm so glad you are both okay."

"Actually Kaitlyn, we had been getting to know each other. I told him I would not allow him to make love to me unless he loved me. Sherlock was very angry at first, but he is a gentleman, and he left me alone."

"So, how did things change?"

"The first four days were difficult, but then my husband decided he wanted to get to know me. Oh, Kaitlyn, it has been so wonderful. We share so many interests, and he kisses so well."

"Only kisses?"

"We have not made love yet," confided Lady Molly, blushing. "On the night of my father's ball, I told him I was willing to have a baby with him after all, because I felt he had grown to care for me."

Kaitlyn put her hands to her mouth. "What did he say to that?"

"It was very strange. Instead of accepting it, he asked if I loved him. I couldn't say the words, Kaitlyn. I thought it would just hurt too much for him to know the depth of my feelings. He kept asking me why I wouldn't say the words. Finally, I said it was true. But I told him to say the words first. I thought at least I could pretend he meant it."

Her friend was wide-eyed. "What happened?" she pressed.

"He told me he loved me. I wasn't certain if it was the truth, but then he said it again. He looked right into my eyes, Kaitlyn. I knew he was telling the truth."

"That's so romantic! But if you have loved each other for two weeks, why is it your husband has not taken you to bed?"

The Marchioness blushed again. "My husband suffered a severe blow to the back of the head when we were kidnapped that night. After we were rescued, his doctor said he must not exert himself in any way for two weeks, for fear of the wound opening again."

"Two weeks!" gasped her friend. Then she thought a moment. "That means tonight...after the ball?"

"Yes Kaitlyn. Sherlock's doctor has told him he is free to commence regular activities." She could feel herself blushing yet again.

"So tonight is to be your real wedding night, then?" asked Kaitlyn with a grin.

"You're embarrassing me Kaitlyn!" said the Marchioness, glancing over at her husband. "Oh, I need to go to Sherlock now. "I think, although I am not certain, he may be with his brother. I'll talk to you later." She was rather glad of the excuse to leave her friend. Kaitlyn was the type to ask questions about every intimate detail of her relationship with Sherlock.

Meeting Mycroft and his wife had been interesting. The couple was obviously in love. Lady Molly felt a little twinge of jealousy when she saw the other woman was with child. She hoped she would soon be in the same condition.

When Lord Sherlock had generously offered to buy a cottage for his brother and Irene, she felt so proud of him. She instinctively felt he would not have offered though, if he had still been relying on her father's money. For someone who had locked his emotions away for so long, she could see how he was opening his heart as well, when he had insisted on publicly acknowledging his brother.

Now, Lord Sherlock took her hand and whispered, "Why don't we go out onto the terrace for some fresh air? It is getting rather stuffy in here."

There were large doors leading from the ballroom to the outside which were open. Most people at the ball were congregated in groups and talking. Some had moved into a reception room to eat and drink. There was even a gaming room set up for people who wished to play cards.

Lord Sherlock drew Lady Molly outside. There was nobody on the terrace save themselves, despite the summer evening. It was a little cooler outside than in the ballroom, which was quite welcome.

The full moon shone brightly and its light illuminated the terrace, casting a glow over it and the surrounding garden.

"It's so beautiful out here," said the Marchioness, looking out over the garden.

The Marquis turned her towards him, saying in a very deep voice that thrilled her senses, "Not as beautiful as you."

Then his lips sought hers and his arms went around her. Lady Molly lifted her arms to thread her fingers gently through his beautiful raven locks. Her heart started to pound as her mouth opened under his in mute invitation. He deepened the kiss, holding her more closely.

When both of them were finding it hard to breathe, Lord Sherlock released his wife to say huskily. "I wish this ball was over already. All I want to do right now is carry you up to your bedchamber and make love to you all night."

Lady Molly hid her face against his shoulder,suddenly feelinh shy at his words. "It is what I want above all things too Sherlock, but we can't leave just yet. Soon we will have to lead everyone in the waltz, when you let the conductor know it is time."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "I know, darling. It just feels as if I have been waiting a lifetime for you, which of course is the truth."

He took his wife's hand and they left the moonlit terrace behind.

They had no sooner returned to the crowded ballroom when Lestrade came up with his new lady love, a sweet bespectacled lady named Lori. "There you are!" he exclaimed. I was telling Lori about some of the cases we have worked on together. She couldn't believe we managed to track down two killers in the same night, just by studying evidence at two different crime scenes."

"Oh Greg," Lori said, smiling indulgently at him. "One I can believe, but two in the sane night? How is that possible?"

"Indeed, Lestrade is telling the truth. We solved a case in the late afternoon, and another later that night. It was a good day, wasn't it, Greg?"

"The best!" agreed the inspector enthusiastically.

Lady Molly watched the exchange with interest. It was obvious that her husband enjoyed solving crimes as well as conducting experiments. Perhaps she would be able to assist him with those sometime.

As the evening wore on, the merriment continued. Lady Molly even spied her lady's maid Kayla, dressed in a fairly simple, but still lovely gown. It was quite a surprise to see that her escort was none other than Dr. John Watson. When the Marquis and Marchioness went over to talk to their friends, they discovered that the good doctor had met Kayla by chance on one of his frequent visits to check on Lord Sherlock's wound, and the two had got along well, resulting in John asking her to accompany him to his best friend's ball.

"Kayla, why did you not tell me of this?" inquired Molly. "I would have gladly lent you one of my gowns."

"Oh, I could not have done that. Besides," her lady's maid said, "I had nobody to help me into such an elaborate style of gown. I am quite happy with my best Sunday gown."

"I think you look simply lovely," stated the doctor.

"Indeed you do," agreed the Marquis.

As the pair left their friends, Lord Sherlock remarked, "I am glad to see that John is finally picking up the pieces of his life. I hope he is able to find happiness again. He is a good man."

Molly squeezed her husband's hand. "I agree. He needs another mother figure for his precious babe, and Kayla is a lovely woman."

As the evening wore on, he Marquis and Marchioness walked amongst the guests, nodding and smiling. They were the centre of attention, whether they liked it or not, which made it next to impossible for them to slip away.

Lord Sherlock spoke to the conductor, who began the music for a waltz, and the crowd parted to allow the Marquis and Marchioness of Sherrinford to lead it. Eventually, other couples joined them.

Lady Molly felt like a princess in her husbands arms, dancing in her beautiful emerald gown. It was like something from a fairytale. Once the waltz had ended and other music was once again playing, Lord Sherlock took her hand again.

"We should have something to eat. I don't want you to faint from lack of food when we go upstairs, my love," he told his wife.

Lady Molly obediently followed him to the reception room. Chef Ramsay had outdone himself, providing dozens of different dishes, both savoury and sweet ones. The couple sampled a little of most of the dishes so that they would be able to offer their compliments to the chef later. Lord Sherlock even playfully fed Molly a piece of cake, sharing it with her.

"Mmm, this is delicious," she praised, enjoying the rich chocolate flavour.

"You have a little piece of cake at the side of your mouth," her husband said.

"Where?" she asked.

"I'll take care of it," he responded, moving in to kiss the side of her mouth.

Lady Molly giggled. Fortunately there were not many people in the reception room, and if anyone noticed their little display of affection, they pretended not to.

"Champagne, my darling?"

"Why not?" assented the Marchioness.

With glasses in hand, the couple walked once more to the door to the terrace. Itbwas feeling uncomfortably hot again in the ballroom.

This time there were other people also enjoying the cool night air. The moon still shone brightly overhead, giving the terrace an unearthly glow, illuminating the garden, where there was a dimly lighted path with benches and hedges along it.

"Shall we take a little walk in the garden?" asked the Marquis. "I don't think you've seen this area before, have you?"

"No, I've only seen the other side of the house, the garden which leads to your workshop."

The newlyweds stepped off the terrace and into the garden. There were many semi-private areas that had obviously been designed with guest in mind. Lady Molly thought she could hear whispers of conversation here and there. She was almost certain she recognized Lestrade's voice in one of the secluded areas, no doubt enjoying a little privacy with his Lori.

The Marquis led his wife further along the path. Little fairy lights lit the way, but were fewer in number, the further they wandered. For others it would have been too far from the house, unless they were familiar with the surrounding area.

Lord Sherlock finally indicated an arbour. Flowers were blooming over a trellis with a bench underneath.

"Father had this put here for Mother when they were young. I always thought it ridiculously sentimental, but not anymore."

The arbour was lit only by the moonlight, and Lady Molly thought it looked very romantic.

"Do you think people will miss us?" she asked, a little hesitantly.

"By this time, people are beginning to do other things, like play cards or take romantic walks. I wish to spend a little time alone with you here. Then we will make one last appearance before we head upstairs for...bed."

Lady Molly could not help the thrill of anticipation that went through her at her husband's words, and the way he had dropped his voice to its lowest pitch for the last word.

The Marquis took her champagne glass from her and put it on the grass, along with his own, before seating himself on the bench.

She would have sat beside him, but he said, "No, Molly. I want you to sit on my lap so I can kiss you properly."

"But my skirt...it is too full," she protested.

"Molly, if you can sit on a chair, you can sit on my lap. Just angle yourself slightly towards me."

She sat gingerly, moving her petticoats to one side so she could sit more comfortably.

Lord Sherlock's one arms supported her and his other reached up to cup her chin and turn her face to his. Instinctively, the Marchioness placed both hands around his neck. He kissed her, starting with feather light ones on her eyes, her nose her cheeks, before pressing his lips to hers.

Lady Molly felt her heart beat begin to quicken as he continued to kiss her, moving his hand from her face, to her shoulder, then to cup her breast through the fabric of her gown.

"Oh Molly," he breathed against her lips, and she could hear the raw desire in his voice. He squeezed her breast gently and she let out a gasp. "My beautiful Molly."

He continued to kiss her until they were both panting.

Finally, the Marquis reluctantly stopped kissing his wife. Her body was inflamed with desire for him and she whimpered in protest when his lips released hers.

"I'm not going to make love to you here, my darling. But one day I will, I promise you that."

Then he rose from the bench, helping Lady Molly to slide to her feet. He retrieved the champagne glasses and they walked slowly back to the ballroom. Lady Molly could see that her husband's face was flushed as she knew hers was. Fortunately, by the time they returned to the terrace, their breathing and flushed faces had returned to normal. Molly noticed a shrewd look on Irene's face, where she stood next to Mycroft on the terrace. She had a feeling the couple might have been enjoying some private time of their own.

Inside the ballroom things were even noisier as people imbibed freely of the choicest wine and champagne. The heat from all the bodies felt oppressive, and Lady Molly wondered how people could tolerate it for such a long period of time.

Lord Sherlock sought out his mother and found her in a gaming room, playing whist with some friends. "Mother, may I speak with you a moment?" he asked her quietly.

"Of course darling." Turning to her fellow card players, she said. "Please continue without me. I will be back later."

Lady Molly's hand was firmly clasped in her husband's as he said, "Mother, would you mind terribly seeing to the guests for the rest of the night? If people ask where my wife and I are, would you please make our excuses? It has been a long night, and I just want to spend some time alone with my wife."

The dowager Marchioness raised a knowing eyebrow. "I have noticed your absence already tonight."

"Please, Mother," Lord Sherlock entreated.

The elderly woman patted his cheek. "I'm just teasing, son. Of course I can make your apologies to the guests. I doubt too many are in a condition to notice if you slip away now. I've seen the longing glances you give each other. Go and enjoy your...wedding night."

Lady Molly knew then that the dowager Marchioness was completely aware of the way things were. She was apparently cognizant of the fact that her son had not been able to be intimate with his wife. She smiled shyly, and then blushed.

"Thank you, Mother!" The Marquis gave his mother a brilliant smile, and drew his wife from the gaming room, through the crush in the ballroom. He walked with such single-minded determination that nobody ventured to stop then.

Once in the enormous entrance way, the couple stopped for a moment, enjoying the comparative quiet. Nobody saw them except Wiggins, the footman on duty, who gave them a knowing smile and cheeky wink.

Lady Molly blushed but returned his smile. Then Lord Sherlock put his arm around his wife's shoulders, and side by side they walked upstairs.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** until I noticed the "Love by Moonlight" title from a Barbara Cartland novel, I hadn't even thought about having Sherlock and Molly spend some time outside of the ballroom. I'm quite pleased with the way it turned out. What did you think?

Are you ready for the big love scene, finally?

Thanks to tboy1971 for suggesting a partner for John. Lestrade''s partner will be seen in my Journey story as well as an upcoming two-parter I will be publishing soon. Lori is a character especially written for reader EllemichelleP.

Your support as readers of my story is appreciated, and I am always open to suggestions for character development and improvement. Any additions or changes I make as a result of a reader's suggestion will always be acknowledged. Thank you!


	22. The Wings Of Ecstasy

When the Marquis and Marchioness arrived at the door of her bedchamber, Lord Sherlock opened it. Before his wife could step through however, he restrained her.

"No. I am going to do this right, the way you deserve." He lifted her into his arms. For a man with a slender physique, he was very strong. He carried Lady Molly to the bed and set her atop it. Then he returned to the door and closed it, locking it from the inside. The room was in semi darkness with only one candle burning. Sherlock lit another one to provide more light. He wanted to be able to see his wife properly.

As he turned back towards his wife, the Marquis noticed her pulling something out from beneath his pillow.

"Sherlock, I have something for you. When I came upstairs this afternoon to rest before the ball, I was unable to sleep. So I wrote you a letter."

He sat beside her and took the letter from her hand, then unfolded it. After he had finished reading it, Lord Sherlock said in a voice that was filled with emotion, "How is it I have been fortunate enough to have found the one woman in this world I could ever love?"

"As I wrote in the letter, it is God's doing."

"Yes. I know you are right, and I do believe we are soulmates. I now understand that God is real, and not a fictitious deity. Your love has shown me that."

He was rewarded by her lovely, joyful smile. "I knew you would understand that one day."

He stood and placed the letter carefully on the small table beside his side of the bed. It was something he would always cherish.

Then he returned to sit beside his wife on the bed. "Molly, did I tell you how breath-taking you look tonight? Did I tell you how much I've been looking forward to being alone with you properly, with nobody to interrupt us?"

He could see by the rapid rise and fall of his wife's chest that she was affected by his words.

"I've been looking forward to it too," she whispered, looking adorably shy all of a sudden. "You...you look incredibly handsome tonight, but then - you always do."

The Marquis stroked his wife's soft cheek, then kissed her gently before saying, "I don't want to rush this. I want to enjoy every moment of this night, of every night going forward. I want to kiss you over every inch of your perfect body. I want you to desire me as much as I desire you," he said with a note of passion in his voice.

In response, the Marchioness reached her hands around his neck and pulled his face so their lips were only an inch apart. "You should get started then."

Lord Sherlock closed the distance between them and began to kiss her, pressing fervent kisses all over her face, savouring every moment. He felt his heartbeat accelerating as desire washed over him again and was very glad that this time there was no need to call a halt to things.

Molly's fingers crept up, to stroke his hair. In the back of his mind he noted that she was careful to keep well away from the area of his head wound.

He continued to kiss her as his hands found the laces of her gown and tried to loosen the strings. After about two minutes of unsuccessfully struggling with them, Lord Sherlock swore.

"Dammit! I can't unlace the bloody things."

His wife grinned at him. "It's easier if you can see what you are doing. Let me stand with my back to you to make it easier."

"Very well," huffed the Marquis. "So much for being romantic and in the moment."

Lady Molly gave a tinkling laugh. It was music to his ears. She stood, giving her husband enough room to stand behind her. She was right. It was much easier to loosen the strings of her bodice when he could see what he was doing.

Accomplishing his task, the Marquis noted with dismay that he still had to remove her petticoats and corset. How could he have forgotten about that when he had only helped his wife out of her gown the previous week?

"Molly," he said. "I don't want you to wear the corset anymore under your clothes. It restricts your breathing, and it is not necessary for your figure."

His wife gasped. "I cannot do that, Sherlock. All women wear them."

"Nevertheless, I am your husband, and you shall do as I say," he commanded her sternly.

She trembled at his words, and suddenly he was worried that she was intimidated by his tone. "I'm sorry..." he started to apologize.

His wife turned around to look at him. "Don't be sorry, Sherlock. I...like it when you are so commanding, so...masculine."

"Is that so, my sweet?" he questioned, giving her a forceful kiss that left her gasping.

"Yes Sherlock. Now get me out of the damned corset."

The Marquis laughed at her unexpected words. She turned her back to him once again, and he loosened her petticoat strings, so that gown and petticoats fell to the floor. Then he worked at the corset strings, cursing the knots once again, as he had the previous week. Lady Molly lifted her arms so he could pull it upwards and off.

This time she did not remain facing the other way, but turned towards him and his breath caught. God, she was beautiful. Her breasts had been made for his hands and he caressed them possessively, then leaned down to pay homage to them, kissing them both in turn.

"Sherlock," she gasped. "Let me...let me undress you too."

Obediently, the Marquis stood, his gaze lingering on his wife's luscious curves as her fingers tremblingly worked at the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt. Once the buttons were unfastened he shrugged the clothes off and she put her hands on his chest, tracing the planes of it wonderingly. Lord Sherlock sucked in his breath. The touch of her fingers against his chest was only serving to inflame him further.

Wanting, no - needing to be closer, he caught up her hands, pulling them behind his body and crushed her against his chest. Oh, but the feel of her softness against him was intoxicating.

Placing his hands on either side of his wife's head, the Marquis began to kiss her again hungrily, feeling his need increase as his whole body pulsed with need. How was it he had never realized how exciting it could be, to be with a woman? Of course, it was only because it was her, his Molly. Everything with her felt so right.

He groaned as the Marchioness pressed closer to him, instinctively seeking what he wanted to give her.

His mouth traced a line downwards, to her throat, and then her breasts once again, while he hooked his thumbs into her drawers and tugged them down so she stood naked before him. His heart was hammering so hard, he thought it might burst out of his chest. Hastily he shed the rest of his own garments, before picking up his wife and carrying her to the bed.

Lady Molly stared up at him, his own desire reflected in her eyes. Lord Sherlock covered her body With his own, supporting himself with one hand behind his wife's neck. He resumed kissing her with slow, ever so sensual kisses while his other hand skimmed her body, touching, exploring.

It wasn't long before the Marchioness started to whimper and writhe beneath him. "Sherlock," she gasped. "Please...please...I need you. Make love to me."

Finally, it was time. When their bodies joined at last in a union that was designed by God from the beginning, they spoke the language of love with their bodies, soaring together on the wings of ecstasy.

It was quite some time later when Lord Sherlock said to his wife, who was encircled in his arms. "I love you Molly, my sweet angel. I never dreamed, never could have imagined how perfect it would be, being with you that way." His voice was very deep, with a note of awe in it.

"My darling husband, I love you too, more than you'll ever know. You were...magnificent."

The Marquis chuckled. "I hope that means you will not be averse to being made love to every night."

Lady Molly pressed herself against him. "Definitely not. We will need to practice a lot if we want to ensure an heir."

"You know it isn't about having an heir, my darling. It's about having a baby, our own baby to love and cherish," Lord Sherlock said, stroking his wife's cheek.

"Sherlock, do you think...well...do we have to only make love once a night?"

Lord Sherlock felt a little spark re-ignite within him at her words. "My little love, we definitely should not limit ourselves to just once." He kissed his beautiful Marchioness and soon demonstrated that, indeed, once a night did not apply to them.

* * *

Thus it was that nine months later, the Marquis and Marchioness of Sherrinford were delighted to introduce their newborn twins to the world - a son with chocolate brown eyes like his mother, and a daughter with the blue-green eyes of her father.

.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../.../

Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes and smiled in contentment. Then he noticed his arms were around his wife as she slept, cuddled against him.

When had she gotten home?

* * *

 **Author's note:** So, the Marquis and Marchioness presumably lived happily ever after. Thanks to simplyshelbs16 for the idea of adding a short epilogue.

One chapter left. Will Sherlock recall his interlude with Molly?

If you have enjoyed the premise of this story and would like to read more like them, please post a review and let me know you want more.

Thanks for supporting my work. It is greatly appreciated. Your reviews bring a smile to my face and make me want to continue writing.


	23. The Wonderful Dream

Sherlock lifted himself up to peer at the digital alarm clock on Molly's side. His eyes widened. Eleven o'clock? Surely not!

Molly stirred and opened her eyes. "Hi, sexy. That sure was some passionate loving you gave me a couple hours ago. Totally wore me out."

The detective blinked in surprise. They'd made love since she got home? He forced himself to think about the events of the past several hours. The dream had been so vivid, it felt as if he'd experienced it himself. Then he remembered the horrible part, the kidnapping. It had been so traumatic he had woken, and Molly had been home. Then he recalled the desperation with which he'd made love to her, feeling so thankful that it had only been a dream.

The kidnapping had brought back to mind the time when she had actually been kidnapped, during their engagement period. It had been a terrifying time, but he had figured out her location and saved her.

It was funny though. He distinctly remembered what happened in the dream after the kidnapping, and the end of the dream, when he and Molly, as the Marquis and Marchioness had welcomed twins into the world.

"Molly, I had the most extraordinary dream. I read one of those Barbara Cartland books of yours, just for fun, seeing as you are so much into romance novels. Then I had this dream. I was a Marquis and I was being forced to marry you for money."

"That certainly fits the pattern of a lot of Barbara Cartland novels," grinned his wife. "What got you so...well, desperate for me?"

"I dreamed our characters were kidnapped by Moriarty. It was quite traumatic. Perhaps it was as a result of lingering fears I have from when you were kidnapped three months ago."

"I'm sorry you had such a terrible nightmare, but not sorry about what happened as a result," said his pathologist with a sultry note in her voice.

"Mmmm," he murmured, nuzzling her neck and kissing it. Her body was tempting him, distracting him. "Are you saying you want a repeat performance?" He skimmed her body lightly, from shoulder to hip, and she trembled slightly.

"I'm not sure I could go another round of desperate lovemaking, but..."

Her voice trailed away as Sherlock started to press kisses alongher jawline, then her ear, sucking her earlobe gently. Then his lips were on hers, not fierce as they had been earlier, but ever so gentle, coaxing a response.

Molly's hands gripped his shoulders as she pressed her body into his in invitation.

He groaned in response. "Molly, don't tease me with your body that way. Lord, you are so wanton sometimes. I'm trying to take things slowly for your benefit."

"I can't help it," confessed his wife. "You make me want to go to the main event."

The detective looked deeply into her eyes. "Patience, my love. There's no hurry. I have no urgent cases requiring my attention, and you don't have to be at work again for over twelve hours."

Molly acquiesced to his demands, becoming pliant in his arms. He resumed kissing her, pressing a little more firmly against her lips until she opened her mouth for him and he explored it delicately, tracing the edge of her teeth with his tongue, before engaging in a brief war of tongue dominance, then he returned to feeling her sweet lips against his as he trailed his hand down her body, exploring her breasts, caressing their hardened peaks and eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her.

He pulled his mouth away, sucking gently on her lower lip as he did so. Then the detective placed his mouth where his hand had just been, and was satisfied to receive more gasps of pleasure, as his roving hand continued to explore the more intimate areas of her body.

The combination of his ministrations was serving to cause his wife to start moving around restlessly, and he felt his own body's need as she cried out in pleasure.

He lifted his head to look at his wife. Her expression was glazed and she was gasping for breath. "Do you want me, Molly?" he asked silkily, feeling a rush of pride that he could ignite her passionate response.

She clutched at his curls and whimpered, "Yes, Sherlock. No more playing. I need you. Love me, darling."

Their bodies joined as one in an urgency that Sherlock was no longer able to control. It was wild, and it was wonderful. Making love was so sweet, so perfect with his Molly.

When they were finally spent from the intensity of their coupling, it took Sherlock several minutes to regain control over his breathing, as it did Molly.

Eventually though, their breathing normalized, and the sleuth began to tell his wife about his dream.

He told her of the parallels between himself and Lord Sherlock, how Lady Molly's influence and sweetness brought him to love.

"And it's funny how your mind can create characters from your real life," the detective said. "I was the Marquis of Sherrinford."

"Oh, that actually sounds quite noble," remarked Molly.

"Your parents, get this, were from 'The Big Bang Theory' - Sheldon and Amy Hooper."

"Oh, that's too funny," giggled his wife. "I guess making you watch it with me is rubbing off on you."

"It is rather curious how alike Sheldon is to the man I used to be. But even he has grown, and acknowledged his love for Amy."

"So, who else was in your dream? Was Mrs. Hudson in it?"

"You're going to laugh at this," Sherlock told her. "She was the housekeeper!."

"Oh that's too funny," laughed Molly. "You had better not tell her anything about your dream. She would be most offended! Who else?"

"John, of course, raising Rosie alone. It's a little sad I didn't dream a very much alive Mary," he said with a note of regret. "You should have seen the way you - as the Marchioness, were with Rosie, such a mother."

"Well," said Molly softly, snuggling a little closer into his embrace, "I guess we'll find out how motherly I really am in about eight months or so."

The detective smiled. "I still can't believe we actually conceived on our honeymoon."

"if you recall, I did tell you during our engagement, that by my calculations, I would be fertile during that period."

"Even so," he murmured. I'm sure it's not the most common of occurrences."

"True, most people get pregnant before the honeymoon these days," his wife quipped. "But we waited till our wedding night to make love, and we've been making up for it ever since."

"That we have," agreed Sherlock. "You were worth waiting forty years for, my love."

"And you were worth the thirty seven in my case. Of course it might not have been so long if you hadn't taken seven years to figure it out."

"I know. I was an arrogant, insufferable prat. But I'm not that man anymore."

"You were never truly that man, Sherlock. That was just the façade you presented to the world. I always knew the real man beneath. I just had to peel away the layers to find him."

Sherlock's arms tightened about her. "I will always thank God for you, and for the fact that you actually consented to marry me, even before I had changed to the man I am today."

"Sherlock, when you came to me that night, three days after Sherrinford, when you proposed, you had already begun to change. You had opened yourself up to experiencing love in its fullness. You made a leap of faith, as it were, right into my arms."

Sherlock kissed her hair. "You caught me, and you've been holding me ever since."

"You've been holding me too, sweetheart. I feel so safe with you..." she stopped, put a hand to her mouth and struggled out of her husband's embrace.

Sherlock looked at her in surprise as she dashed to the bathroom.

He heard the unmistakable sounds of dry-heaving, and slid out of bed himself.

He found Molly in the bathroom, on her knees and leaning over the bowl of the toilet. Her face had suddenly drained of colour.

She looked up as he entered,then flushed the toilet, smiling at him wanly. "I guess the morning sickness has started."

"I'm so sorry, love. I was hoping you'd be one of those women who sails through pregnancy without any symptoms."

She gave him a wry smile. "Apparently not. But that's alright. I've read that having morning sickness is a good sign, that it means your baby is doing okay."

"Can I get you something? Water? Ritz crackers? Flat lemonade?" He had spent some time on his laptop, as soon as Molly had told him she was pregnant, researching signs and symptoms of pregnancy.

The smile his wife gave him this time was much bigger. "You've been reading up on pregnancy."

"A little," he admitted, not willing to share that he had spent hours on it. "So, how about that water? Anything to eat? Toast?"

"I'll take some water. I don't think we have any Ritz crackers though."

"Yes we do," Sherlock said, flushing slightly. "I went to the supermarket the other day when you were at work, and I was in between cases. I bought them, just in case you should need them."

She looked at him gratefully. "I couldn't ask for a better husband. I'll take a few crackers as well as the water."

"Coming right up." He assisted his wife to stand and helped her back to bed. Damn, she looked beautiful naked, even sick as she was. Not bothering to clothe himself, Sherlock went to the kitchen and got the water and a plate with some crackers, then gave them to Molly.

"Thanks, honey. Tell me more about your dream while I eat."

He told her about Lord Sherlock's head injury, the restrictions John had set regarding excessive physical activity and the rather sensual bath he had had with his wife.

"Ooooo," Molly said, playfully. The colour had returned to her face and she was looking decidedly better after her snack. "You're having erotic dreams now."

Sherlock could feel himself blush. "I may have had one or two of those while we were engaged," he admitted.

Molly grinned at him. "Yeah, I distinctly remember. Actually, that bath scene brings to mind the bath we had together on our wedding night after the second time we made love."

"Mhmm, as I recall, it led to the third time." Dammit, desire was flowing through his veins again. His libido was out of control. He forced himself away from the unwanted thoughts, and tried to concentrate on his wife's wellbeing. "Are you feeling better, darling?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes from wandering to her exposed chest, as she sat in bed.

"Yes, thank you. You still have to finish your story. I want to know if they were good and waited to make love like we did, until Lord Sherlock's head had healed."

"Oh yeah. Well, they held another ball. I forgot to tell you. My brother Mycroft was in it. He had been disinherited after running away with Irene Adler."

Molly's expression darkened. "I'd prefer you not dream about that woman."

Sherlock stroked her cheek affectionately. "It was just a dream, silly. But get this. She was pregnant by him, and they were actually in love."

"Wow, your mind really twisted that one. That woman wouldn't know love if it hit her in the face. All she is about is lust, and her own pleasures."

"True enough," agreed the sleuth. "By the way, your friends Kaitlyn and Kayla were in it."

"Our friends," Molly said firmly.

"Our friends, then. Kaitlyn was your best friend and bridesmaid, and Kayla was your lady's maid."

"Poor Kayla, relegated to a servant role," laughed Molly.

"Oh, and my chef was Gordon Ramsay. He wasn't seen though, just mentioned. Billy Wiggins was a footman."

"You'll have to tell him about that. I bet he'll get a kick out of it."

"At the ball, Greg was with Lori too."

"I am definitely telling Lori about that, she'll like that."

"The most ridiculous thing was my butler's name...Jeeves."

Molly laughed out loud. "Jeeves? That's so Barbara Cartland! Was he played by anyone you know?"

"Strangely enough, nobody I can recall, although supposedly our dreams are always shaped by people we've met at some point. You'll like this one too, seeing as you are a 'Downton Abbey' fan. Bates was my valet."

The pathologist clapped her hands, and Sherlock watched her breasts rise and fall with the movement. He closed his eyes, telling himself to stop it already.

Molly's voice caused him to open them again. "What's wrong, Sherlock? Are you okay? Maybe we are both coming down with something and me getting sick was not because of the baby."

"Uh, no. I'm fine." **_Except my body is telling me I want you again,_** he thought.

"So tell me, did Lord Sherlock and Lady Molly finally make love?"

Sherlock gulped. Talking about it was not going to make his own renewed desire disappear. "Er, yes. And then there was like, an epilogue showing them nine months later with twins, a boy and girl." Perhaps that would distract her so she didn't ask him to describe the love scene.

"Twins! I sure hope that is not an omen for our future," Molly chuckled. "So tell me about the big love scene. Describe it to me. I wanna know," she demanded.

"Don't make me, Molly," he groaned.

"Why?"

"Because...because dammit, I already want you again, and if I tell you about it, I'm going to have to go and take a cold shower."

"How well do you remember the scene?"

Sherlock shuddered. "Every bloody detail. I mean they undressed each other and...I can't tell you. I really can't."

"Then why don't you show me?" she purred, sliding her arms about him.

"No, Molly. You're sick."

"I'm feeling completely fine right now, but I won't be if you deny me. I am pregnant, you know. You need to indulge me."

"You're playing the pregnancy card already? Bloody hell, I'm in for it, aren't I?"

"You are in for it, most definitely, my beloved husband. Now show me what happened in your dream. Re-create it for me."

Who was he to argue with his pregnant wife? Before he began his demonstration, he said, "There are two things you need to know."

Molly nuzzled his neck, then kissed it. "I'm listening."

"Lady Molly said afterwards that I...well Lord Sherlock, was...magnificent."

"And so you are," murmured his wife, reaching to caress his curls. "And the other thing?"

"They made love twice."

"Molly's fingers danced along the planes of his chest and Sherlock felt the raging fire within, as his body responded fully to her sensual touch, and his breath caught.

"I'm up for it, if you are," his naughty wife said, emphasizing the second word.

And he demonstrated very ably that he was, indeed, up to the task at hand.

* * *

 **Author's note:** It is with a heavy heart that I must say goodbye to this story. I have had an immense amount of fun writing it. So much so, that 'I am planning a sequel, with Molly as the dreamer.

I apologize if you were confused by some of the character names in this chapter. I write all my stories within the one universe, which means there are characters from my original, ongoing multi-chapter story, "A Journey to Love and Faith." If you are interested in learning who Kaitlyn and Kayla are, I refer you to that story. However, I think this story still works as a stand-alone. You just get to see some spoilers from time to time, and references to my Journey one.

Greg and Lori are featured in my Super Bowl story if you wish to check that one out.

I hope you have enjoyed this story enough to follow my work, favourite it and/or review with your feedback. Special thanks again to those of you who have been on this journey from the beginning, and faithfully reviewed it. I really appreciate it, and you!

 **GoodShipSherlollipop**


End file.
